Ever Played a Dangerous Game, Abby Sciuto?
by Cellzo
Summary: Abby-centric. "Do you do jigsaw puzzles for fun, Gibbs, like a game?" Abby leaned forward to look him in the eye. "I'm pretty good at them," he responded. "Let's hope so," Abby said, walking into the elevator without looking back. *Abby/Gibbs friendship!
1. A Familiar Face, Abby?

"Tony!" Abby called loudly, muting her music as she skittered over to him. "And Gibbs!" she called in her slightly raspy voice, her pigtails swinging as she met them in the middle of her lab, in front of the desk of computers. One was blinking with a green sign that read _POSITIVE MATCH._

Agent Tony DiNozzo and Special Agent Jethro Gibbs stood in front of her, Tony looking around at the various things in her lab, as he usually did. None of it he understood, but it perked his curiosity anyway. Gibbs' blue eyes, so fitting for his demeanor, tracked Tony for a moment before flicking back to Abby's smiling face, her cheekbones, her bright green eyes, her full, lipstick covered lips. As close to him as a daughter.

"What have you got for me, Abbs?" he questioned her, turning his attention back to Tony. Once Tony turned and noticed Gibbs looking at him, he gave a sheepish/charming smile as he himself joined Gibbs, watching Abby. The two men were serious as they looked at their top forensic scientist.

"The melted piece of metal you found? The fingerprints were burned away, but I was able to examine the alloy—"

"In English, Abbs," Gibbs requested patiently.

"Oh yeah." She gave them her small smile as she continued, using the hand gestures she usually did, waving her hands around and touching her glove-covered fingers together now and then. "The individual pieces of metal found was an alloy that I was able to trace back to the Life Saving Knife company."

"Irony…" Tony mumbled with a grin, earning himself a slap on the back of the head from Gibbs.

Abby simply smiled, tilting her head slightly. "Soooo, I tried emailing them explaining the situation, but I got an auto-response saying they weren't at work on weekends. I didn't want to waste any time, so I took the liberty of hacking into their system," she earned a quick disapproving look from Gibbs, but continued anyway, "and viewed their list of recent customers and their stock. On the morning of the murder, a normal but sharp kitchen knife was _stolen,_" she emphasized. It only took a moment before realization registered on their faces.

"We've got him in custody," Gibbs explained. "DiNozzo, go arrest him," he said as Tony nodded with a "yes boss" and exited the lab.

"Nice work, Abbs," Gibbs said, giving her a light kiss on the cheek and handing her a Caf-Pow, seemingly from out of nowhere. She wasn't one to complain though.

"Aw, thanks Gibbs!" she said, following him up the stairs, her lab coat billowing out behind her as she ran to keep up with him in her tied up boots. They made clunky sounds on the stairs as she followed, only to hang out in the bullpen, since she had finished all of her reports and cases in record time.

"Case closed, we got our guy," Gibbs announced, sitting down behind his desk. Abby instead stood by the entrance to the bullpen, leaning against the wall.

Ziva turned her head from behind her desk to the forensic scientist, who was grinning victoriously, her red lips pulled tight. "Nice job, Abby," she complimented, returning her smile. McGee was out on dinner duty tonight, since they hadn't exactly planned on finishing the case so fast. Tony was still arresting their newest murderer, so it was just the three of them.

Ziva and Abby struck up a conversation, something about the annoyance of jury duty, when Tony finally came down in the elevator and joined them, sitting behind his desk and propping his feet up.

"I guess that's it then," he smiled, "no more cas—"

Just before he could finish, Gibbs' office phone rang and he raised an eyebrow at Tony before picking it up. After just a few brief moments, he responded, "Be there in 5." He hung up the phone and stood up, grabbing his bag. "You guys know the drill. David, DiNozzo, with me," he said, quickly exiting the bullpen as Ziva and Tony gathered their things.

"Way to jinx it, DiNozzo," Abby taunted from her perch, grinning from ear to ear. Tony just glanced at her before following Gibbs out, quickly followed by Ziva.

When the three agents arrived on the scene, there were lights flashing and the night was nearly pitch black. Only a street light showed them the way to the crime scene, where a great pool of blood appeared black in the moonlight. The victim was wearing a navy green hoodie and black jeans, laying facedown in his own pool of blood. Some dried had collected at his mouth, his eyes frozen open in terror.

"What happened?" Gibbs questioned the NCIS agents that had already appeared on the scene, Tony and Ziva standing behind him as they glanced around, Ziva with her camera at the ready.

"No witnesses. It looks like he was on his way to the building, actually," a female agent reported, her dark blonde hair pulled up in a ponytail under her NCIS cap.

Ziva knelt down on one side of the body, the side his head was facing and started snapping pictures. Ducky flanked his other side, prodding softly with his latex gloves at various parts of the body. Nodding, he and Ziva flipped him onto his back, his head lifelessly flipping to the other side, his mouth frozen open. There was an obvious stab wound in his chest, but it was longer than it should be.

Ducky offered an explanation. "It appears as if this cold hearted killer dug his knife into him," Ducky closely examined to make sure his theory was correct before continuing, "and literally tore a hole in this poor boy." Indeed, there was a gaping, bloody line from his shoulder to the middle of his stomach, obvious through his stained hoodie. Ziva snapped some more pictures before standing up.

"Time of death?" Gibbs asked, as per usual.

Ducky scanned him quickly before coming up with an answer. "Oh my," he said softly, double checking to make sure his results were correct.

"What's the problem, Ducky?" Gibbs asked, kneeling down next to him.

"Time of death… just twenty minutes ago," he murmured, gently holding up the victim's hand. Indeed, it was mostly cold, but there was still a tinge of life hanging on in there, quickly flickering out.

Unfortunately, they didn't bother to look at his face. Maybe for them, fortunately, otherwise they might have been scared out of their skins. Instead, after the time of death was read, they flipped him over and into a body bag to be transferred back. Not even Ziva had closely examined her pictures yet, leaving that for Abby to take care of. She, too, would have been deeply perturbed.

However, it would have given them the best damn clue they'd ever had.

"What happened?" Abby questioned as Gibbs entered her lab.

"A boy was murdered."

"Any evidence?"

"Only the blood to identify him," Gibbs sighed, giving her a little vial they had collected at the scene. Strangely enough, that was all they could find. However, they did have his clothes in an evidence bag, in case nothing could be found.

"Stay here, I'll find him in a jiffy," she smiled, applying the blood in the proper place and having the machines scan and match it. She started to whistle, but after a sharp look from Gibbs she stopped, just in time to look at the screen as an ID popped up.

Her eyes widened for a moment, but then frowned. "A little screw up. Happens. I'll run it again," she said, typing a command quickly and letting it load. Gibbs raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. It was silent for a moment before she got her results.

She glanced hopefully at the screen, but instantly her smile tugged downwards instead. Her eyes widened visibly, her face struck in shock.

"What's wrong, Abbs?" Gibbs questioned, trying to stand behind her, but she hurriedly typed another command.

"This can't be, Gibbs! It can't!"

Meanwhile, Ducky was bent over the naked body, cold now, and still. Ducky had since closed his eyes, ashamed that another man could do this. Or woman, but usually women didn't kill coldly.

"Poor lad," Ducky murmured, examining his body before cutting into him. "Wouldn't have died instantly. He would have been in excruciating pain." Dr. Palmer, beside him, looked a bit sickened, but kept quiet.

"Flip him over, maybe there's something on his back," Ducky suggested, reaching up to rearrange the overhead lamp while Dr. Palmer carefully turned him over.

When the young doctor gasped sharply, Ducky looked down. There was fabric covering his back, but a line was carved by his shoulder blades, delicately and precisely into his back. There was no mistaking this was no accident. Ducky put a latex finger to the area, gently pressing around it. A little blood trickled out.

"This was done after death," he pronounced. His assistant, afraid to pull up the sheet, instead walked over to the other side. Ducky sighed, gently tugging at the cloth, peeling it off slowly. The line turned out to be a big capital A, looking rather menacing. Ducky put on a brave face and slowly peeled the rest of it off.

"A…B…" Dr. Palmer spelled out slowly, his face slowly paling.

"Oh dear," Ducky gasped himself, having fully revealed the first part of the message, carefully carved into the boy's back.

_ABBY_

"Maybe it's a different Abby?" Dr. Palmer suggested shakily, but the cloth wasn't fully off. Ducky finished pulling it off to reveal the last part of the message. It now read:

_ABBY SCIUTO…_

"Call Abby's lab, Dr. Palmer," Ducky said softly. "Get her up here, now. Bring the rest of the team."

Jimmy Palmer obeyed, first calling the bullpen, and they said they'd go pick up Abby and Gibbs from her lab. Jimmy didn't mention why, unable to bring himself to say. His face was still sickeningly pale, and Ducky was practically frozen in horror.

Within a quick minute the team streamed in, tailed by a fidgeting Abby, her hands swooping this way and that, her eyes darting, an extra bounce in her step that didn't seem happy. It just looked like she had had one too many Caf-Pows. With all the work she had been doing, the rest of the team paid no mind.

Ducky quickly covered up the message before they could see. "What's wrong, Duck," Gibbs inquired, him and his team surrounding the clothed body, Abby fidgeting in the back, trying to appear distracted.

"Abigail," he called over, his voice on the verge of cracking. Jimmy stood behind him, looking sick and scared.

"Duck," Gibbs ordered, but Ducky ignored him.

"Abigail, come here," Ducky ordered as best as he could. Abby made her way over to the table, in between Gibbs and Tony. She took a deep breath and focused. Ducky glanced up at her, meeting her eyes quickly before glancing back down. They all turned their eyes back to the body.

Ducky peeled off the cloth yet again, slowly.

Abby covered her mouth.

_ABBY SCIUTO…_

A muffled scream escaped Abby behind her gloved hands, and the other agents weren't sure what to think. First they glanced uncertainly at Ducky, then Jimmy, then at the body again, then at each other. When they finally settled their gaze back on Abby, she was shaking.

Gibbs draped his arm over her shoulders and pulled her close. It was as if she didn't even acknowledge him, her eyes were glued to the message directed at her.

"Abigail, do you recognize this young man?" Ducky asked, slowly turning him over. Gibbs felt Abby's knees give out and her weight sag down as soon as she saw the face of the victim, and he grabbed her by the waist and hauled her back up. By now, she had stopped shaking, and assumed a calm posture, while her eyes and mouth were full of fear. Just as she had been when she was kidnapped by the killer-that-left-no-traces she had tracked down with the help of the Los Angeles team, The Phantom. When he held the ax to her neck. She could still feel the cold metal against her skin. The team had since seen that video over and over again, though it made them sick, they recognized the look instantly.

"Abigail?" Ducky questioned when she didn't respond after a few tense seconds.

She nodded slowly.

"I'd imagine you guys would, too," she said softly, averting her gaze. The rest of the team looked at her, and then down at the face. As they studied, they realized what Abby was referring to.

His hair was a dark shade, long, shaggy, and glossy. He had cheekbones that made his silent face look full of emotion, yet calm. Even his jaw line, though more masculine, resembled Abby's. Tony could almost imagine him twisting his mouth to the side, just like Abby was currently doing. Even the kid's eyes had the same shape, and when Ducky softly pulled his lids up, they were nearly the same color as Abby's, just with more flecks of gray in them.

"Abby, this cannot be," Ziva started to say.

"Yep, it is," she said nervously, her fingers twitching.

"Is this what you were hiding from me?" Gibbs questioned, tilting his head to get a look at her, but all he could see was the back of her nodding head.

"It's your younger brother," McGee mentioned quietly, when nobody else could.

"Yeah…" she nodded slowly, "and I know exactly who the killer is." Without another word, or hesitation, she ran out of the Autopsy room, her lab coat billowing behind her yet again as she ran up the stairs, leaving the team behind, stunned, and afraid.


	2. What Does She Know, Abby?

"I have to," Abby whined pleadingly, crossing her legs as she sat in the old wheelie chair. "What else did you think it was for, Gibbs?"

Gibbs looked up at his forensic scientist, his cold blue eyes revealing no emotion whatsoever. Except, maybe, for a twinge of sympathy. Actually, as Abby met his gaze with one of her own, she did see it. Feelings of hurt, empathy, even. That was understandable, taking his past into account.

"She won't like it," Gibbs said softly, standing up straight and walking to the back of his own chair, placing his hands on Abby's shoulders.

"I should still tell her!" Abby protested, turning the chair around to look at him, his hands leaving her shoulders. The only evidence that he had just touched her was the lingering warmth.

Gibbs sighed, looking at Abby's face. Her expression wasn't solemn as it had been the previous night, but it wasn't smiling, or happy about this in any way. It would be harder for her to make the call than it would be for the recipient, there was no doubt. The team had no idea how hard Abby was taking it, but then again, it was _Abby. _Since when did she make those kind of things obvious?

As they had all previously remembered, when she was milliseconds away from death, all she did was put on her stony face and close her eyes while an ax was swung at her neck.

Gibbs couldn't help replaying the desperate scene in his head, watching it flash before his eyes. Before Abby could see, he quickly turned around. "Go for it," he said, walking away and taking his Starbucks coffee with him.

Abby didn't smile like she usually would. Her red lips didn't pull tight. Instead, she almost looked ashamed. _Almost._

A few minutes later, Abby was muttering to herself, something about it being her fault as she typed a chain of commands into Gibbs' computer. Currently, her lab was locked and the "repair guy workers," as Abby referred to them, were fixing on the key card "thingy." It wouldn't be functional at least until tomorrow, so Abby was stuck jumping from Gibbs' computer, to McGee's, to Ziva's, and most regretfully, Tony's. Do you know what he keeps on there?

After a moment a loading screen popped up and Abby froze, her eyes fixating on the bright monitor in front of her. This time, her expression changed to resemble that calm, contemplating, serious look she had of hers. Then again, it wouldn't be easily recognizable over the grainy computer screen, now would it?

For Abby Sciuto, hopefully not.

After a brief few seconds the loading screen filled up and let out a _bleep. _The young woman didn't move as a box opened up, loading the image in front of her.

There was a woman that was at least thirty years older than Abby. Her hair was dark, long, and wavy. Her cheekbones smoothed into her face and her eyes were a grayish green, but they showed brilliantly, even over the computer. There was a pretty gleam to her demeanor though, and she tilted her head and gave Abby a bright white smile with the same full lips.

Abby, in a striped black and red t-shirt, her black leggings with tiny white skulls on them, and a pair of black lace up combat boots on, couldn't bring herself to smile back.

The bullpen was quiet. Gibbs would be returning soon and McGee went home early, leaving Ziva and Tony to unknowingly witness Abby's silent conversation with Annabelle.

Annabelle, surrounded by plush couches, a plasma screen TV over a gray stone fireplace, polished wooden flooring, and an abstract tapestry hanging on the wall, frowned, her mouth twisting slightly to the side as her slender hands came into view. In a quick succession of movements and signs, Abby was able to understand.

_Abigail? Is something wrong?_

Abby sighed, shifting her position a bit. In fact, just looking at Annabelle in the computer screen, the forensic scientist felt as if she were looking into a mirror, gazing into her similar green eyes.

_Yeah, _Abby signed back, then let her hands drop to her lap. Ziva and Tony raised their heads to look at her curiously as Abby lifted her hands again and continued to sign. _Sean's dead._ Abby's eyes flicked away from the screen, towards the ground as she leaned backwards a bit in Gibbs' chair.

She did catch Annabelle's response in the corner of her eye, though. _How? _Abby was able to distinguish, Annabelle's shaking hands making it difficult. Through the computer, the agents closest, meaning Abby, Tony, and Ziva, could hear the beginning sounds of sobbing.

"Abby, what's wrong?" Ziva inquired, standing up from her desk and walking around to stand in front of Gibbs', where Abby was seated. Tony leaned back in his own desk, curiosity etched on his face.

"It's not me," Abby responded, unmoving except for her eyes, which looked up at Ziva and then at the computer screen. On it, Annabelle was beginning to tear up, streaks running down her cheeks and her hands visibly shaking. When Ziva got the hint, she stood still, peering down to observe Abby's reaction. And, she had to admit to herself, to watch Abby signing; she had heard of it, but hadn't yet witnessed it. Herself being able to speak multiple languages fluently, she was intrigued by a language that didn't _involve _speaking at all. Especially of the means by which Abby had to learn it.

_I think you already know that. _For the first time since the NCIS took on the case of Sean Scuito, a tear rolled down Abby's pale cheek. A single tear, alone, as it dropped onto Gibbs' desk. Ziva wanted to reach out to her, unknowing of what they were actually "speaking" about, but thought better of it. Annabelle, Mrs. Sciuto, might see her and avoid Abby.

Loud sobs were now emanating from the computer as Annabelle pressed her forehead to her desk. Her body shook, from her head to her shoulders, or as much as Abby could see of her.

The strong, pungent smell of coffee made itself known in the bullpen, catching the trio's attention to the opening elevator. Fresh from speaking with Ducky in autopsy, the coffee cup was accompanied by a Gibbs, smiling a little from his brief talk with Ducky. Tony looked on curiously, wondering what Ducky could have possibly said to get his boss in this good a mood, and how quickly it would vanish.

Tony, while arrogant and obnoxious at times, was not _ignorant. _He had seen that tear make its path down Abby's cheek, he had seen her signing to the webcam stationed on Gibbs' computer, and he could hear the sobs. By now, it was obvious to both Tony and Ziva what was going on between Abby and Annabelle, but to Gibbs, it took a little while.

Once the elevator closed, Gibbs walked over to the bullpen, quickly picking up on the sound of sobbing. All he could see was the back of Abby's head, her hair pulled tight in her usual pigtails, and Ziva and Tony looking up at him intently.

"What did I miss?" Gibbs questioned, feeling his smile dwindle as he walked over to Tony's desk, and then turned around and looked at Ziva and Abby. Ziva's gaze was fixed on him, but Abby was watching the computer with somewhat of a sad look about her, one that was difficult to place.

Abby, unable to get Annabelle's attention due to the fact that she was completely deaf, had to wait until she was able to raise her head. Instead, Ziva spoke.

"Abby, are you alright?" she asked, unsure of how to approach. Anyone at NCIS, and any case victims, could tell you that Ziva was not good with women, emotions, and anything unrelated to Mossad, terrorists, etc. She was even more unsure, what with the fact that the woman she was left to comfort was her friend and co-worker. It was just like any other case though, wasn't it?

Yes, it had to be that simple. The women she questioned were always somehow related to the victim, the dead body left to be found. It was Ziva's job typically to sympathize and get answers at the same time. With Abby's strange remark the previous night, that she had known who the killer was, it was time she started giving some answers. However, she had come in late that day and had to go straight to work, sending off a report that had been requested of her. After that, she hadn't shown her face all day until about half an hour ago, when she came up to report that they were fixing the "key thing-a-ma-bob" and she couldn't enter her lab until it was repaired. There had been no time to interrogate her, and the team was even intimidated; how would Abby respond? So far, she had shown no visible signs. With no way to tell how she was coping with this, getting answers out of her was going to no doubt be tricky, to say the least.

"I'm fine, thanks Ziva," Abby looked up at her, unable to muster a smile with the grave news she had just gave to her unprepared mother. "She isn't, though," Abby sighed, pointing to the monitor, with sobbing sounds still coming from it.

"She's not taking the news well?" Tony asked from his seat, slightly obscured by Gibbs.

"Who _would _take it well, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked, setting his stare onto the man in question.

Tony sighed. "Good point, boss."

As if on cue, Tony stood up and along with Gibbs, made their way around Gibbs' desk to look over Abby's shoulders, shortly followed by Ziva. With Annabelle still sobbing into her desk, Abby tried waving her hand a little to get the woman's attention.

When that didn't work, Abby tried waving her hands frantically, which finally got her attention. She raised her head and already her eyes were puffy and her cheeks were stained with tears. The hair surrounding her face was wet and messy, stuck to her forehead and cheeks here and there. Her mouth was still turned down.

"Tell her we give the Sciuto family our condolences," Gibbs told Abby, being in no place to sign it to the woman himself. Abby quickly translated it for him, gesturing and getting the message across in a flurry of movements.

_I'll tell your father, _Annabelle signed, and then hesitated. _Thank you. _Another hesitation as she almost squinted into the screen, looking at the people situated behind her daughter.

_Couldn't Jethro have told me himself? _Annabelle asked, causing Gibbs to chuckle in the background. If it were anyone else, both Ziva and Tony would have elbowed him in the ribs, but it was their always serious boss. Besides, they had no idea what the context was that he was chuckling at exactly.

Abby sighed with the slightest hint of a smile, rolling her eyes as she leaned back completely. "She says," Abby reported, "why couldn't _Jethro,_" Abby emphasized his name, as put in her mother's terms, "tell her himself."

Gibbs, in response, signed as best as he could from his current position into the camera, hesitating for a millisecond here and there, as his signing was still a bit rusty. _I think it's more of a private conversation between mother and daughter. _He smiled slightly, remembering Kelly for a second before returning to earth. Annabelle simply nodded in response, sobbing once more and using her sweater sleeve to wipe away the stray tears left on her face.

_Thank you for telling me, Abby,_ she signed almost sluggishly, her hands still shaking.

_You're welcome,_ was Abby's only response, but as if they were speaking, Annabelle cut her off.

She seemed almost panicked when she signed back, leaning forward. _Abby, you know you can't—_

Abby cut her off, waving her hands to stop her. Slowly, her mother lowered her hands, looking almost worriedly at Abby. It was hard to tell over the computer screen.

Gibbs frowned, looking at the top of Abby's head.

"What happened?" Tony asked innocently. There was no way he or Ziva could have known the tense moment that had just taken place.

"What _did _happen, Abby?" Gibbs questioned as if he were interrogating her, placing his hand on her shoulder. She didn't move, but her mother's gaze didn't falter. "What can't you do?"

"Is that what she said?" Ziva asked, first looking at silently crying Annabelle and then Gibbs himself.

"Um, can't let my mind stray too far from work!" Abby covered up quickly, offering them a smile that the team could place as fake in a second, but didn't.

_I have to go, _Abby signed quickly to her mother without an explanation. The woman simply nodded and Abby hurriedly ex-ed out the screen, revealing Gibbs' plain blue desktop with case files and pictures littering it.

"There's something you're not telling us, Abby," Gibbs remarked leaving the crowded little area to face Abby from the other side of the desk. Ziva and Tony remained on her sides, leaning against the back of the chair. Tony noticed out of the corner of his eye that Abby's hands were twitching in her lap, squeezing her fingers and then letting go.

The young woman sighed, figuring better now than never. The situation was only going to get worse. She knew how it was all going to play out and how she herself would end up, but the details were fuzzy. There was an outline she could easily identify, and it involved something along the lines of what the team had already discovered. She couldn't tell them that now, however; it was much too soon. There was something she could say.

"Do you do jigsaw puzzles for fun, Gibbs?" Abby leaned forward to look at him straight in the eye. "Other than for work, I mean," she said with a brief gesture of her hand before putting her elbows on the desk and resting her chin in her palms. "Do you do jigsaw puzzles like a game?"

The three looked at her as if she were in a mental ward, but only Gibbs responded, meeting her gaze as he usually did. Instead of asking the obvious, he instead responded, "I'm pretty good at them."

"Let's hope so," Abby said with a genuine smile, but one that hinted at other meanings behind it as she stood up and walked around Tony, exiting Gibbs' desk. Without looking back she pressed the button to the elevator which opened without a single delay, let her in, and then closed in on her as it took her downstairs to her lab, which she was determined to try getting into for the thirteenth time.

There were very few means of keeping Abby Sciuto out of anything for very long.


	3. Nobody Sees It But You, Abby?

**Thank you all so much for the reviews! I also want to make it clear right now that none of this is mine, except for the idea and Abby's family (her parents really are deaf, though, and she really does have a younger brother, and I didn't know about her mother being named Gloria but oh well too late now). I know I'm forgetting something, so there may be an author's note in the near future of this story. Oh yes, and being 13, I'm not very good with this kind of work, so I'll be making plenty of mistakes. If any of you have any advice, please, I'd love it.**

**Anyway, third chapter, please enjoy! I got a little stuck on this one, I wasn't sure exactly what to say, but go figure. Please R&R—I promise a new chapter will come faster with more reviews. The most reviews I've ever gotten on a story was 12. Beat that and I might finish this one! Also, I'm kinda busy this week, so don't expect much for a little bit. I was lucky I could write this. I have a history paper, quiz, and outline notes all due tomorrow, none of which I've done. Heehee… Oh, and this was re-uploaded due to a few formatting issues, apparently.**

HEADACHE MEDICATIONwas not something Abby could ask for easily in this place. 

This was a Navy Yard, and the closest thing they had to a doctor was a trained Medical Examiner and his assistant. He could help when they inhaled toxic gases, or when they got an injury, but a headache was probably not something he dealt with. A diagnosis Ducky could deliver, but not actual _medication._

And since she was totally fine, she didn't really feel the need to ask. Why burden someone when it was just a headache? As long as she could still work, it wasn't a problem. Although, being who she was, even if it got in the way of her working, she'd still push on.

It was a week after Abby had delivered the news to her mother, who had since gotten over it. She had received the occasional email—which she made sure the rest of the team never found out about—asking how she was, mentally and physically. It was careful treading with her mother, Abby had discovered. She was kind and sweet and never turned a single soul down, much like Abby, but she was a bit naïve. Obviously, she could let the wrong secrets out at the wrong times. Abby had since reprimanded her for that, and she promised to say as quiet as possible.

Abby groaned, leaning forward onto her desk and putting her hand to her head. She wasn't wearing gloves, and it was easy enough to feel the thrumming and pounding of a headache that would most certainly get worse. Why the hell would Ducky have headache medication, of all things? It wasn't like the majority of patients he saw would ever need it…

The scientist had to chuckle at the idea of a corpse sitting up and asking Ducky for headache medication. Though he claimed that the dead bodies talked, and Abby could definitely see his point (and she herself had even admitted to chatting with one of them on a previous case). They revealed clues that otherwise the agents might have never discovered. Chris Pucci, one of their fellow agents, who had been murdered while investigating a cold case, had swallowed a memory chip when he knew he was dying. It was because he knew he was going to end up on Ducky's autopsy table, and he knew that he was most definitely going to find it. It was very clever thinking. Something Abby could be devoid of at times.

After an hour or so of focused working, Abby felt herself collapsing. One brief break from her work and her head was throbbing and all she could do was groan. One too many Caf-Pows was most definitely a possibility. It definitely wasn't an unknown condition to her. Usually, Gibbs would just let her go home and rest it off, like a hangover. But she hadn't felt a migraine this bad since New Year's—in her senior year of college. If only they had an actual doctor here.

_Well, not an actual doctor, that's not what I meant, _Abby chided herself. _I mean one of those doctors that gives you medicine and stuff. And shots. Eww, I hate shots, except blood tests. You get to see all the red blood go up that little tube from your bare skin…_

She was even babbling in her mind in a thin stream of consciousness. It was almost as if she were in another world, but when she came back, her forehead was pressed against the cool desk in a vain attempt to relieve herself of the pain. It didn't work, instead, she felt herself pulled towards sleep, something she had never done in the lab. Then again, time was a foreign concept down there. It was like a cave, except for the small window that didn't shed much light on time, literally. It was barely noticeable if it was sunny, because the lab was actually underground and the window was covered with trees and bushes.

The outside life by her window grew so thickly at times that it was impossible to judge the weather—or time—outside at all. This was one of those times as Abby turned her head to check. Sighing, deciding she should give in and take a break, she managed to stand up. Her head felt like it was a giant brick, heavy and unstable, but she managed. Once she stabilized herself, she strode out of the lab and into the elevator, afraid she'd fall if she took the stairs.

Once in the bullpen, she realized it was bright. It couldn't be later than 2 pm. No way was she giving into "military time." It was just too difficult to understand **(Only because I can't! Sorry, Abbs!)**. McGee looked up at her as the elevator opened and she plopped down in Gibbs' chair, only to end up aggravating her migraine, but she gave no hint.

"They just got called out on a report of a dead marine," McGee informed simply, pushing his chair back to get a better look at her. "I haven't seen you all day."

"I came in really early," Abby explained, yawning on cue as if to emphasize her point, and then gave McGee a sly smile. At least he was able to take her mind off of… well… her mind.

"I can see that," McGee offered, pushing himself back to his computer as he furiously typed in a chain of commands. "Why don't you take a nap while they're out?"

"But what if Gibbs finds out?" Abby pushed, unwilling to push Gibbs himself.

"I don't think he'll mind," McGee mumbled. Abby was Gibbs' favorite. Anyone at NCIS could tell you that without a slight hesitation. If she was tired and overworked, there would be nothing keeping her from falling asleep in Gibbs chair. What he'd most likely do would be to give her one stern look and then pull up a chair next to her and continue working.

"Besides, Ducky won't find you either," McGee grinned, noting as how Ducky and Jimmy were both away investigating the scene. Before he could give another reason why she could fall asleep, she was out, her arms folded on one of the arms of the chair and her head resting comfortably. Sleep seemed to take her easily, as if it had been waiting for her for a while now.

Too bad McGee failed to notice the telltale sign.

Hours later, Abby was actually woken up by Gibbs himself, who was barely raising an eyebrow to her as he looked down at her. The chair whirled around as she tried to meet him, stumbling in surprise as her headache came back to greet her.

"Gibbs!" she called, standing up abruptly and even tripping a bit before catching herself. "Welcome back!"

He didn't say anything in response, instead sat down at his desk as he pushed to find out as much about the dead marine as possible. "Abbs," he said after he got comfortable. "Ducky recovered some evidence," he said, handing Abby a handful of little plastic bags with various things in them.

"Yes sir, Agent Gibbs sir!" she said, accidentally saluting him with the wrong hand as she ran off in direction of the elevators again. Gibbs shook his head at the enthusiastic forensic scientist with a small smile playing across his lips. Tony and Ziva just watched her go briefly before delving back into their work, not wanting a head slap from Gibbs to "get them back on track."

The elevator seemed to take longer than usual to get downstairs, but as Abby glanced at the clock recently installed above the doors, it was a perfectly normal time. Of course only Abby would know that. She got bored when the clock was installed and checked every floor, seeing how many seconds it would take for the elevator to reach each one undisturbed. And then took the liberty of measuring the time when a certain amount of people got in at a certain floor and then out another. With a million possible theories, Abby had given up the more complicated ones a few days ago, settling for the discovery she already had.

If that clock was correct, it took precisely 17 seconds for the elevator to go from the bullpen down to her lab, undisturbed.

"Seventeen," Abby counted as the elevator door dinged and slid open for her. She smiled triumphantly as she opened her lab door.

Once a few steps in, she froze in her tracks. Her eyes stayed glued to the floor for a moment before sliding up, taking in her lab, every detail of it. Her blood turned to ice and she barely felt the evidence bags sliding from her fingers as her green eyes widened. Shock was registering on her face, numbing any other possible feelings.

Once she took in the worst bit, she heard a pent up scream coming from none other than herself, but it seemed foreign, far away, and way too scared.

"Well, Mr. Palmer," Ducky consulted his assistant as they wheeled the new body down into Autopsy. "Looks like we have another poor victim," he sighed wistfully. "These days, I'm beginning to feel somewhat relieved that Gibbs left the army," he said softly as Jimmy looked up at him with interest.

"I'm sure he made some force to be reckoned with," Jimmy chuckled softly, catching the end of the table as it nearly collided with the corner of a wall. It caught Ducky's attention, who turned to look back at him.

"Careful, Mr. Palmer, couldn't have—what?" Ducky consulted as he saw a shocked expression settle onto Jimmy's face once they entered the autopsy room. Well, at first shocked, but then melted into one of pure confusion as he stumbled to find the correct words. "Whatever is the matter, Mr. Palmer?"

Finally, Jimmy gulped and managed to find a question to ask. "Was someone expected to visit the autopsy room today?"

"No, why?" Ducky was about to ask, but then turned around and realized what Jimmy had been gaping at.

A trail of blood led up to the revealed body of Sean Sciuto, cold and dead. He was the only body visible at the moment; the other's locked up securely. However, the door to his case had been obviously tampered with, dented and scraped. There was a gaping hole made not-so-neatly in the spot where his left arm connected to his body. There was plenty of blood; on the floors, on the table.

"Mr. Palmer, call Gibbs immediately," Ducky ordered, his voice laced with shock and betrayal. He knew for a fact nobody at NCIS that had possible access to the autopsy room had not been here while he was out investigating. Besides, even if it was someone on the inside, the door had been broken through with what looked like a hammer of some sort.

Someone had broken in.

Jimmy was panting somewhat heavily as he waited anxiously for the phone to stop ringing. It seemed an eternity before he heard a stern, "_Gibbs._"

"Agent Gibbs!" Jimmy rushed, unable to give the full title, but giving just the proper respect.

"_Is something wrong, Jimmy?_" Gibbs questioned, obviously hearing the panic in the young man's voice.

"U-um," he stumbled, but managed to swallow as he looked back at a shocked Dr. Mallard and a bloody trail. He found his breath and continued. "Someone broke into the autopsy room."

"_What did they take?_" Gibbs asked calmly. Jimmy could hear him abruptly stand up and in the background could hear orders being directed at the three agents with him to go and investigate. Jimmy continued fretfully.

"Um, well… I'm not sure exactly… but…"

"_Spit it out!_" Gibbs snapped roughly.

"It looks like they took a blood sample from Mr. Sciuto…" Jimmy trailed off, unsure of what conclusion to draw. Had someone been in a rush, unable to call in? Or was this a crime of some sort? This was not his area of expertise, obviously.

Yet again, too bad the correlation never occurred to him.

Before either of them could talk, or before Jimmy could hear the elevator, he was sure all six of them—the four agents and the two medical examiners—could hear the undeniable scream of Ms. Abigail Sciuto, something none of them had heard in years. It was reserved for what you could say would be only the most _special _of cases.

"Abigail?" Ducky managed to say with recognition behind his expression, before glancing up concernedly at Jimmy. Before he knew it he heard Gibbs drop the phone and he did too, making a bolt for the door, with Dr. Mallard trailing just behind him. For a man of his age, he certainly could keep pace.

Less than a minute later they were all crowding into Abby's lab, all standing behind her frozen body, her hands trembling at her sides and her gaze locked in place somewhere. In fact, her whole body was shaking.

"Abbs? Abby?" Gibbs asked worriedly behind her, taking his place next to her along with McGee, Tony, and Ziva.

"What's wr—" McGee was about to ask, but he felt his voice catch in his throat.

It had taken all of them a moment to notice the faint blood trail from autopsy leading into Abby's lab. It led across the lab to the wall directly in front of them. There were glass shards littering the floor, some covered in spots of blood.

However, the most frightening part was written plainly on the wall. In big blocky, obviously red, letters, a rather vague message wrote,

_I'M COMING, ABIGAIL SCIUTO._

The correlation, the obvious hint in front of their noses, never occurred to any of them, except for maybe a pale, sickened, on the verge of collapsing Abigail Sciuto.


	4. Where Are The Answers, Abby?

"Abby, you have an obligation," Ziva patted the young woman's arm comfortingly. In response, Abby averted her green gaze and sighed softly, leaning back against the stairs. At least she had that for cover.

Since her terrible migraine the previous day, she hadn't mentioned to anyone about it, once it had disappeared. She figured it was from lack of sleep, or too many Caf-Pows. Which might have proven to be very true, but she hadn't investigated yet.

"Abby," Ziva called softly, shaking her shoulder gently. It didn't seem very successful calling her back to earth on the outside, but on the inside, she wasn't coming in peace, to say the least. Her head swam with billions of little fish that just kept on nagging her, and she felt a strange, sort of light headed feeling. The world would fizz before her for a moment before disappearing. It had occurred to her that _maybe _she should pay attention to her own condition, but of course, she put everyone else first. They were all working hard, the last thing they need to be burdened with was a little fever she had picked up. There were definitely much worse things.

Even if it was worse, she would do everything in her power to keep her "adopted family" from getting involved. The last thing she wanted on her conscience was their blood. In fact, she'd never forgive herself if they were hurt protecting or helping her in any way. Even though it was unlikely, there was a chance, and definitely a risk that Abby didn't want to run.

"Yeah…" Abby found herself saying, taking a deep breath to steady herself as best as possible. Ziva blamed it on nerves. Anyone would be nervous as hell in Abby's place, and though Ziva would have most surely been too, she didn't show it.

"Come on," Ziva smiled reassuringly, taking Abby's arm and helping her up the stairs. This common action relieved Abby—Ziva might have realized something suspicious when she couldn't keep her balance. At least she'd be sitting down where she was going. Too bad it was up, and not down to her lab, where she'd definitely be more comfortable. Then again, they were probably concerned. Her lab had become a crime scene, literally overnight.

After the cryptic message, painted in blood, had been found in her lab along with broken glass shards, Gibbs had called out some orders, none of which she had paid attention to. Truth be told, she barely remembered anything from the previous day. It all kind of just fuzzed out, but maybe she'd remember later, when she was feeling a little more stable. Until then, she could go through a day of life or so with discomfort. Anyhow, nobody was allowed into her lab at the moment, and she had been relieved from work temporarily, due to obvious reasons. However, she hadn't been able to keep herself away, so she came to work anyway to help out where she could. As it turned out, they definitely expected that of her, but not in the way she had wanted to offer her assistance.

It seems Abby had blinked out of consciousness for a moment, because next thing she knew she was trying to step up onto an invisible step, and ended up tripping forward before catching herself. Just in time too, because Ziva turned around to look at her, and when she smiled innocently, Ziva gave her another reassuring look before heading off in the direction of the interrogation room.

Next thing she knew she was sitting in a cold plastic chair, in front of a boring gray table, in a boring gray room, facing a boring piece of glass that she _knew _people were watching through. She felt as if she were being violated, even. Time to herself was something she enjoyed, and being alone in this room should have amused her. Instead, it disturbed her, much like Gibbs' "gut." She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and the world tipped to the side, wavering like the waves of the ocean themselves. Somehow, by some miracle, she was able to stay upright with just a bit of swaying, which could have been obviously overlooked. Nobody would notice, would they?

At least nobody was up close and personal here, sitting across from the table and pushing answers out of her she was reluctant to give. Trying to keep herself busy and focused, she started fiddling with her hands again, a habit she had picked up ever since her brother was murdered a little over a week ago. It still seemed surreal to her, but it was life. It happened, as unlikely as it was.

The most unlikely part was that someone—he—had found her. That wasn't possible, was it? To Annabelle, it was completely. It was a reality she had been prepared to face, one that Abby knew was tearing her apart inside, but she didn't let it show. Annabelle was a strong woman when need be, and instead comforted the people around her instead of herself. That's exactly where Abby picked up her trait of putting other people in front of herself. In an extreme situation she'd rather not think about, if it was her life or any one of theirs, they'd be attending her funeral. It's like one of those games kids thought of when they were little.

As disturbing as it was to picture it, Abby knew the reality. Kids always made up little trivial games. "If this person and this person were in some sort of danger, who would you save?" Of course, you just filled in the variables. Abby had heard tales of volcanoes, shark-filled tanks, acids, etc. They were all terrible realities, and sometimes Abby couldn't stand to see how kids did it. Or, better yet, why they did it. Who would even want to imagine something like that?

Especially when it was sadly and completely real?

Abby had to shift in her seat again, extremely uncomfortable. The silence was aggravating her, and she wished they'd say something to her. Even if it was just a single word. Sitting here waiting was painful to her, and especially with her current condition. The silence felt as if it were enveloping her like a great blanket, closing in on her and keeping her wrapped up. The dizziness intensified and she felt nauseous as everything started to blur.

Outside the interrogation room, observing from the outside, was Tony, McGee, and Ziva, and only them. They watched with varying looks of concern as the hyper-active woman they knew managed to stay quiet and still, seemingly untroubled. Then again, Abby was always good at wearing masks when she could. Sometimes she did cry, and sob, and make sure that everyone knew how she was feeling.

Now, however, she was managing to keep herself together, even though she felt as if she were falling apart inside. The agents couldn't observe that, though. Her thoughts and feelings were her own. Seemingly the only things that she could keep to herself. Gibbs was determined to get answers out of her, and he was so sure she wouldn't hesitate.

"Do you think this will work?" McGee questioned his fellow agents, his eyes glued to the sad glass.

"It's Abby," Tony muttered.

"She trusts us," Ziva pointed out. "If she seriously thought something was wrong that concerned us, she would have come to us."

"Yeah, right," Tony protested.

"He's got a point," McGee said regretfully, hating to side with Tony, of all people. Then again, he did certainly have a point.

"Prove it," Ziva challenged, not even looking in their direction.

"When that freak Mikel stalked her?" Tony suggested without missing a beat.

Ziva finally shifted her weight to one foot as she turned to look at a smug Tony. She considered her words. "You are a smart donkey's butt, do you know that?"

"Smart ass, Ziva," Tony corrected.

"I'm sure multiple people have proven that to him, Ziva," McGee piped up, earning a scowl from Tony and a victorious smile from Ziva. However, Ziva then frowned.

"Why would an ass be smart?" Ziva narrowed her eyes, disliking the English language even more with every word of it she was forced to utter. Why couldn't the NCIS be stationed in Tel Aviv?

Before any of them could say anything more, the door opened and Jimmy joined them, fully clothed for work. He offered a shy smile as the three agents raised an eyebrow to him, so to speak. At least, the looks on their faces were obvious.

"Just wanted to see how Abby was doing," he smiled behind his glasses, standing behind McGee and Ziva to watch in between them. When he noticed their eyes still trained on him he frowned. "What? I care, too."

The three agents didn't know Jimmy very well. In fact, they hadn't known that he was close friends with Abby in the first place. Then again, they had to remind themselves that she wasn't an agent. She worked for NCIS, yes, but not exactly on Gibbs' team. It just happened to be that she was closer to them. She definitely had friends outside of the team, unlike the four agents. In fact, much like Ducky and Jimmy. She was like a neutral, hopping from person to person.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, Gibbs came in, but on the wrong side of the glass. He left Abby alone and instead came in to check with his agents who had been observing the mysterious forensic scientist for the past few minutes, longer than he had. It was enough, though. Her body actions could reveal a lot in that amount of time while she was isolated in a room. Especially a room she didn't tend to like. She had admitted it scared her, but she hadn't exactly given a reason as to _why._

"How is she?" Gibbs consulted, standing behind all of them and watching the glass.

"She seems alright," Ziva commented. All the woman had done was shift in her seat to find a more comfortable position, look at the table, and look at her hands in her lap.

"For Abby, she's staying pretty still," Tony offered.

"And quiet," McGee added finally, though it was obviously implied.

For a few moments, they were all quiet. This was not Abby's common behavior, even in the intimidating interrogation room. Last time she had been in there, she had been playing around with Fornell, sipping a Caf-Pow, going off on tangents, and pressing her face to the glass. This was very uncharacteristic behavior.

"Something's wrong," Gibbs remarked. To his dismay, after a slight hesitation all three agents nodded in agreement.

Jimmy had decided to stay off to the side, not wanting to even possibly get in their way. They were the agents that needed to take care of Abby and protect her. He was just there as a supportive friend, and she didn't even know. Oh well, at least he knew that he was there for her. Besides, Abby trusted him.

Finally, Gibbs took his leave, exiting the small room. After a moment the door on the other side of the glass opened and Abby's head snapped up to watch as Gibbs entered silently and sat across from her, his back to the glass. A little recorder was thrown on the table, as expected, and started recording. At least this "suspect" wouldn't be complaining about it.

Abby looked up at him, her green eyes questioning, contemplating, _far away._ It was a mask she was wearing. A complete lie, right in front of them. They couldn't see that, though. They never could.

"Why am I here?" she asked softly, getting straight to the point, if delaying a bit. Undeniably, she knew why she was there, but why did they have to do this? It was personal, couldn't they ask her in person? Then again, there was no hope she'd give them any answers anywhere else, so they might have been hoping to scare her into giving her some answers in the interrogation room. On the other hand, she was just another case; a victim that needed to be questioned by any means possible.

Gibbs considered his questions as he folded his arms on the table. There was plenty to ask, but where to start? It was like having to clean a circular pen. It was all dirty, but it had no corners, no beginnings or endings. So where to start?

Gibbs decided not to start with the most dramatic of questions—who the killer was. Instead, he decided to work his way up from what he suspected was the least significant to the most.

"What did you mean by the jigsaw puzzles?" Gibbs finally asked, tilting his head as his eyes found her green ones. She shuffled under his gaze, pressing and cold.

" 'To each their own mind and interpretation,' " Abby quoted, most likely from Ducky. It sounded like something she would have picked up from him. Gibbs sighed, he could see how difficult this was going to be.

She was going to avoid his questions, if lamely. There was no way he could absolutely force her, and she was going to undoubtedly take advantage of that little loophole. But if she wanted help, she had to. Though she probably didn't want it.

"And what was the intended meaning?" Gibbs asked, leaning forward slightly. This time Abby seemed to wince, though what from, Gibbs couldn't tell.

She decided to be honest. "I can't tell you. That's one of the pieces. One of the _corner_ pieces," she emphasized. This time, Gibbs was able to set the first piece in place, the corner piece she had been mentioning.

When doing a jigsaw puzzle, you always started with the corner pieces, but the rest of the pieces wouldn't be handed to you in the proper order. You had to figure them out on your own. So far, he only had one piece in the correct place.

"I'm sorry," Abby apologized, taking Gibbs by surprise.

But he went along anyway. "For what, Abbs?"

"For confusing you. I just can't. You'll understand," she said somewhat vaguely. The word "can't" stuck out to Gibbs, though.

"Can't" was the _inability _to. Not the _desire not to,_ but the actual physical inability. She could have said she wouldn't. But here, her words were being chosen carefully, as were his. Every word had its intended meaning. It was just up to Gibbs to figure that out.

When Abby registered the realization on his face from his brief discovery, she smiled softly. "I think you have another corner piece in place, Gibbs," she answered.

"There are little hints all over, left for me to pick up and find," Gibbs started his theory. "That's one of the places where I start, and then work inwards." He checked her expression and she gave him a look to continue. "The next place I start from is the fact that you can't give me the answers, the straightforward answers we're looking for."

She just nodded and smiled as he started understanding, but even this realization was getting them nowhere in this case. It was a mystery, that much was clear. It was something, at least. Better than nothing.

Then it took him a minute to notice that faraway look in her eyes. Once he focused, he realized she was swaying in her chair, as if she were about to pass out.

"Abbs? Abby?" Gibbs ask concernedly, but she shook her head after a moment. She shook her head.

Then she screamed, doubling over, her pigtails falling roughly onto the table. Gibbs' chair fell back as he stood up abruptly, becoming furious with the table for being in the way. Her own chair fell out from under her and she hit the hard floor, on her knees, doubled over in extreme pain.

Screams were coming from her mouth as her arms wrapped tightly around her stomach. It seemed as if she couldn't make any words out, the pain unbearable. "Abby! Abbs!" Gibbs shouted as the door swung open roughly and the three agents joined him.

"Jimmy is calling Ducky," McGee said quickly, bending down to try to help Abby stand. She couldn't move though, in much too pain.

Her body was frozen as screams continued racking her body, the pain reaching every part of her, parts she didn't even know she had. It took over her body and reached her head, shutting everything else out.

The next thing she knew everything went black all at once.


	5. What's Gotten Into You, Abby?

**Ok guys, I managed to get on my dad's laptop for now. My computer is still hinky and I'll do my best to fix it. Till then, here's this. This story will get much longer, but I felt as if I had to reveal a vital part of the puzzle to you. It's about time, I've delayed it for four chapters, eh? So please read and review; the more reviews, the faster I'll try to get another chapter up. Your reviews are fuel for the flame… or whatever… *Ziva moment***

**On with the show!**

Their voices tortured her. With each word she felt the need to reach out and speak to them, but something was holding her back. It felt as if she were detached in a lonely place, and it was beyond frustrating. Why couldn't she speak? Where was her mouth? Her hands? Where was anything?

Most importantly, where was she?

There was beeping, that much was evident. A steady rhythm was going, but she could barely hear it over the familiar voices echoing in the room.

"Do we know what happened?" she heard Gibbs ask. All she could do was listen. It was better than sitting there and listening to the torture of the beeping.

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

"Do we know what happened?" Gibbs found himself saying, sitting in a dark red plastic chair that sat off to the side of Abby's bed. The room smelled of various medications, giving it the classic hospital smell. Gibbs found himself disgusted with it, but given the circumstances, there wasn't much he could do.

The second thing that annoyed him the most was that everything was white. Why white, of all colors? It was blank, neutral, hopeless. It didn't provide comfort or shelter, or even any promises, so why white? The walls were white, the floors were white, the bed was white, the blankets were white, _every little damn thing. _Plus, Abby didn't like it. She didn't like hospitals. She didn't like the smell, or the feel, especially the look. It made Gibbs want to shoot he wall, but he was able to resist as he focused on Ducky, the Medical Examiner sitting next to him on another similar chair.

"No, not until the blood tests come back, Jethro," Ducky attempted to console, resting his hand on Gibbs' shoulder, who then looked away. "All we know is that she's alright."

"Can't you take a guess?" Gibbs pressed anxiously, but masking it with anger. Her symptoms might have been blamed on a fever, but the severe abdominal pains gave her away.

On the drive to the hospital (nobody was patient enough to wait for an ambulance so they all piled into two cars and sped off to the hospital where she was instantly admitted) the woman had woken up briefly in the car with Gibbs at the wheel and Ziva and Jimmy in the back with her.

She had looked distant, and not even a bit afraid. Foggy, even, as if her senses were being dulled. Ziva had later pointed out she didn't seem to be looking at any of them, but they paid no mind. With a pained gasp, she had admitted, though strained, her headaches, dizziness, nausea, drowsiness, and finally, the excruciating pain she had experienced in the interrogation room. When they tried to coax more answers out of her, the car cut a corner and she passed out again.

Now, she was lying still in her hospital bed, all of the makeup wiped off and any signs of any distress gone. She didn't necessarily look sick, or disturbed, or hurt in any way, which was a relief. Tony had quietly admitted to Ducky earlier that he wouldn't have been able to stand seeing her in obvious visible pain.

"Not without the proper tools, Jethro," Ducky sighed, "as much as I wish I could help. She is not my patient and I have no right in doing anything without her doctor's permission."

Gibbs stood up impatiently, quickly followed by Ducky. Everyone had previously visited Abby, but there wasn't much to say. They knew she could hear, but not much else was known. The doctor's reported she was in a light coma and her blood was being sent for testing, but nothing had come back quite yet. The team was more than impatient, so the agents, plus Jimmy, had headed back to the yard so that they could try to continue investigating the mysterious "jigsaw puzzle case" of Sean Schiuto. At least it kept their minds focused on something progressive, so neither Gibbs nor Ducky stopped them. Even Jimmy was helping out where he could, though he didn't really have any expertise in this branch.

An hour later, at the present, it was about time that Gibbs and Ducky pitched in as well. Ducky would sweep Jimmy off to the autopsy room as soon as he got back so that they could further look into Sean's injury. It was definitely possible they might have overlooked something. It had happened before, everyone messed up now and then.

They found their way back down the white hallways of the hospital until they quickly ran into Abby's doctor, on his way to meet up with them. They looked at him expectantly as he delivered the news they had received.

"Agent Gibbs, Dr. Mallard," he addressed them, but when Gibbs shot him an impatient look he cleared his throat and continued. "We got an email back from the lab."

"Well?" Gibbs demanded as if the doctor were one of his agents. The doctor didn't dare question him though and instead continued with a sigh.

"They reported that there was a fire and they'll be unable to do any tests on her blood for a few days at the least."

Gibbs looked ready to burst when Ducky stepped in. "Is it possible I could conduct a blood test?"

The doctor looked at him suspiciously, but then again, he wasn't called _Dr. _Mallard for nothing. Besides, with her strange symptoms and no diagnosis, he recognized the significance of the situation. In a normal circumstance he wouldn't allow anyone to do this.

"Keep quiet about it. I'll get you a blood sample," he said in a hushed voice, quickly sweeping past them, pushing his framed glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. Within a second he disappeared into Abby's room and the door swung closed, as if to protect her privacy.

The two men looked at each other as they were left abruptly in the middle of a hospital hallway as a nurse rushed past with a tube of what looked like some clear pain medication.

Unsure of what to say, they waited uncomfortably, their eyes trained on the door. Finally it swung inwards and the doctor emerged, a clear tube filled to the middle with a red liquid in hand, but it was only visible for a brief moment. The doctor dropped it in a brown paper bag that looked like it contained someone's lunch or something along the lines of that, not a girl's blood.

The doctor double checked the halls before sweeping over to the two and dropping the bag in Dr. Mallard's hands. "Listen," he said quietly. "I'm not supposed to do this and I could lose my job over this, do you understand? But with this case, with no clear diagnosis and not even a clue, I'm going to have to trust you."

The doctor fished in his lab coat pocket for a moment before coming up with a small business card, which he slipped into the bag with the blood. "Email me when you get the results," he ordered. Gibbs just looked at him, astonished. This wasn't the outcome he had expected.

Ducky felt similarly, but they weren't ones to complain. With anything possible on the line here, they were willing to take what they could get. And if there was even a remote possibility that these symptoms of Abby's were connected to her brother's murder, it was all the more important that they figure it out. Lastly, it was best that they were the ones to figure out the results of the blood test and no a doctor, who might not be able to convey to them the full details.

"Thank you, Doctor," Ducky said quickly, rushing down the hall with a speed-walking Gibbs.

"I'm driving," Gibbs announced, swinging his car keys on his finger as they crossed through the lobby without suspicion. The doctor behind them watched them go from the hallway before disappearing down it once more.

"Just be careful not to break anything," Ducky warned, receiving a half hearted smile from Gibbs.

Gibbs unlocked the car door with a quick yank and slid into the driver's seat and did his seatbelt. Ducky did the same in the passenger seat, or "shotgun" as Tony would call it. The brown paper bag was secure in Ducky's lap.

"Let's ride," Ducky chuckled as Gibbs turned the keys in the ignition and sped forward with a small screech.

Gibbs trained his emotionless eyes on the road in front of him as he drove without thinking, automatically dodging cars and making his way back to the yard. As sad as it was to admit, he had made this path plenty of times before, so it was more automatic. Ducky stayed silent at his side as blurred cars and buildings whizzed past.

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

Gibbs and Ducky walked into the building with the brown paper bag still in Ducky's hands. While Gibbs sat behind his desk the medical examiner hurried on, taking the elevator down to autopsy with Jimmy right behind him.

Ziva, Tony, and McGee looked up expectantly at Gibbs for any good news, but he just shook his head. Gibbs found that it might be best not to share with them that the doctor had given them illegal permission to perform a blood test. They would become alarmed to the fact that her blood wasn't being processed soon enough. It would take a bit longer here, but it was sooner at least than a few days.

A cold voice in Gibbs' gut called to him, "What if she doesn't even have that long?"

But he ignored it because he believed in his young lab rat. Surely there was nothing wrong, some food poisoning maybe, nothing major. Nothing bad ever happened to Abby. At least, nothing life threatening, other than a tight situation. Besides, the tightest she had been in was when she was in a car with a hit man hired to kill her and when the ax was swung at her neck and when McGee's obsessed fan held a gun at her head…

Gibbs shook his head again as he tried to focus. "Does anyone have anything?"

"Actually, yes, boss," McGee called from his desk, standing up to display his findings onto the plasma screen TV. Ziva and Tony stood up along with Gibbs to get a better look while McGee stayed at the controls.

"I ran a test on the blood found in the message in Abby's lab," McGee reported as the computer speedily ran to find a match. "You know, just in case it wasn't Sean's."

The computer popped up with Sean's driver's license and a shudder ran through all four of them. His smiling face looked like a mirror image of Abby's, ominous and eerie in a way.

McGee gulped and continued his findings when none of the other agents said anything. "It was. The message was written in Sean's blood."

"Way to go, Captain Obvious," Tony scolded. "We already knew this!" he shouted, frustrated and angry. This was connected to Abby and it was scaring Tony, even though he knew it was scaring all of them, even Gibbs.

"Wait a minute," Gibbs interrupted, narrowing his eyes at the screen. "What did you say?"

McGee gave him a strange look before quoting himself. "I said, the message was written in Sean's blood."

Ziva caught on to Gibbs' look, although she might have completed the thought before he did. "But it wasn't entirely his, yes?"

"What do you mean? It came from his body, Zi-va," Tony taunted, impatient with his team. McGee shared the same puzzled look, but Ziva went on.

"It came from his body," Gibbs clarified. His agents were going to need to be able to piece this together on their own if they had any hope of figuring out who Sean's murderer was, thoughts of Abby pushed reluctantly to the back of their minds.

"But what does he share in common with Abby?" Ziva asked, turning around to look at both McGee and Tony, who just stood there.

McGee snapped first. "They share the same blood!" McGee shouted excitedly as a piece came together in his mind.

"Correct," Ziva helped him clarify. When nobody finished the last statement, Gibbs did.

"This message was written in Abby's blood."

"Boss," Tony piped up, coming up with his own theory. "Is it possible that her brother's murder is connected with her being sick?"

"But being sick doesn't cause any blood loss," McGee pointed out.

"Then he's not done with her, if this was the case," Ziva concluded as they all seemed to tense up. But while Abby was in her current condition, there was nothing much they could do except hurry up their attempts in finding Sean's murder.

"There's no guarantee here," Gibbs reminded them all. "This theory might prove to be wrong yet."

When they all seemed to freeze to try to comprehend what was going on, Tony felt as if this were too much. Waiting here wasn't doing anything for anyone and it was starting to frustrate him. Then he remembered Ducky running into the elevator with Jimmy.

"Where did Ducky go?" Tony asked, grabbing the attention of his fellow agents.

Gibbs, still reluctant to give them the answer they were probably looking for, instead simply responded, "Abby's lab. Running a blood test." It was obvious he wasn't offering any further explanation.

"Shall we go see how they're doing?" Ziva suggested as cheerily as possible. It was a team effort to get all of their minds off of the possibly threatening message, much beyond appearance. One tiny voice kept nagging them though, that it might not be true. There was a possibility, a hope, that it was all just a coincidence.

Gibbs didn't believe in coincidences, and neither did his agents.

Without another word they all filed tensely into the elevator and stood around while it sped downwards towards Abby's lab, "Labby."

They all awkwardly looked away from one another until the doors open and, relieved, they filed out and headed into Abby's lab, the door swinging open for them. At her computers, instead of a smiling Abby with black pigtails all tied up and wearing strange clothing and a dog collar, was the back of Ducky's and Jimmy's heads.

Since Ducky was still somewhat of a slow typist, Jimmy had taken over the computers themselves, typing in the commands he had learned from Abby to find traces of anything in her blood. So far, there was nothing alarming or even out of the ordinary. Ducky was taking up his place looking at a small sample of the blood taken under a microscope he had found sitting quietly on Abby's desk.

"Nothing yet, guys," Jimmy reported when he heard the multiple footsteps walking in.

That quickly changed though when the computer flashed. "Oh, wait," Jimmy altered, fishing around, trying to figure out what it was that the computer had picked up on. It was towards the end of the test, meaning it was the only trace of anything dangerous found in her blood sample.

Once the report came up on the monitor, Jimmy spoke. His voice was shaky. "Doctor, you might want to take a look at this."

Ducky stood up and joined him at the computer screen, blocking the team's view as they waited nervously for the report. Anything was possible, they had to remind themselves. Absolutely, positively anything, and always be prepared for the worst.

"What did you find, Duck?" Gibbs consulted somewhat forcefully when neither of the medical examiners responded, instead focused on the screen.

Ducky was the first to snap out of the trance. "Methanol," he responded softly.

"What—" Tony started to say, but was cut off by a stumbling McGee.

"That's poisonous," he managed. Before anyone could say anything, Ducky added,

"And fatally. We must get back to Abigail now," he said, unease behind his tired voice as he strode out of the lab, quickly followed by the rest of the team and Jimmy.

"When will the poison take effect?" Ziva asked as they all collectively ran up the stairs, making the strongest attempts to pick up their feet and rush to Abby's aid.

"Let's just say," Ducky started as they rushed out of the building.

"She should be dead by now."


	6. Leaving So Soon, Abby?

**I AM SO SORRY! I LOVE YOU ALL AND I HOPE YOU'LL FORGIVE ME FOR MY WAY-TOO-LONG HIATUS!**

**See, with the bad weather, the parts for my computer were delayed. When it finally got fixed, I got swamped with assignments, and even now I have an essay, science fair project, two tests, and all that crap this week. However, next week should be much easier, and then on until well into… err, March. I hope to continue updating regularly. **** Oh, and if the science in this chapter defies all logic, feel free to point it out to me—I'm still in 7****th**** grade science here, people, and just theorizing.**

**Lastly, does anyone know how to do those page breaks in stories on here? Y'know, those gray lines? Thanks a bunch. I'm going to go look it up and see if it works… lemme know, 'kay? On with the show!**

**Edit: Tried to edit it through FF and use the horizontal page break, but it keeps going away. I guess it isn't working D:  
**

_Palmer frowned at the back of the small group and slowed his pace as they hurried theirs. The absence of his footsteps went unnoticed in their rush to reach Abby's side before she fell to the poison injected into her. However, Palmer was a smart man. A bit awkward at times, yes, but smart nonetheless. It just didn't make sense to him._

_As he stopped on the stairs, he pondered. Methanol killed fairly quickly after severe symptoms, as Abby's had been hours ago. She had been in excruciating pain not only from her abdomen, but as Ducky and he himself had from her claims diagnosed, headaches, dizziness, and an abnormal fatigue. After discovering the injection of methanol, Jimmy and Ducky suspected that the glossy look she had given them in the original car ride to the hospital, the one where she didn't seem to be looking at anyone, as Ziva acutely pointed out, was credited to temporary blindness. At the time, they might have been able to credit it to a bad case of the flu, but she was sent to the hospital nonetheless._

_The hospital's medicines hadn't changed her condition, and it only worsened; that's when their suspicions originally rose, as had been reported to them only minutes previously. What stumped Jimmy was the fact that, as grim as the thought was, she should have died by now. Gibbs was her emergency contact—the hospital would have called him, and he would have been beyond out-of-character if he had received that terrible news. She wasn't dead yet. How was that possible…?_

_He made his way back down the stairs and into Abby's lab, where the deadly report of methanol was still blinking on her computer screen. With a bit of her blood still leftover, he conducted the test again with a narrowed search; anything poisonous or otherwise abnormal. The methanol came up yet again, but instead of stopping, the computer continued scanning this time._

_His brow furrowed as the result came up. The methanol was the only poisonous substance found, but it had been diluted. Someone, whoever did this, had injected her with a mix of the methanol and it's antidote as well. From his knowledge, that antidote would have delayed the deadliness of the poison for a few hours, which were soon ticking away. He was no detective, but it was easy to deduce at first glance that the guy who did this had meant to cause her pain and even fear. The symptoms of methanol poisoning were most definitely no walk in the park._

_He couldn't bare having watched Abby writhe in pain for an hour before the team decided to send her to the hospital when it was obvious Ducky didn't have the proper medicines and her condition wasn't letting up, only worsening. A frown tugged at his lips, but he needed to announce his findings, and quickly._

That had been hours ago, and Gibbs and Ducky were just learning of it now. The other three agents had unwillingly submitted to finding a space to park the car; apparently it was a busy day in the hospital. Jimmy had sought them out once they arrived, after having been given the news that Abby's condition was still worsening, and her pulse was slowing, and she was showing no signs of waking up from her current sleep. They still couldn't diagnose her condition; after all, methanol symptoms bore resemblance to plenty of other ailments, but couldn't be cured the same way.

Presently, Jimmy just finished whispering his findings to a silently steaming Gibbs and a worried-as-ever Ducky.

"The son of a bitch who did this just meant to hurt her?" Gibbs questioned as coolly as possible.

"It appears that way, Jethro," Ducky said wistfully. "Good work, Dr. Palmer." Normally, the young man would have beamed at the praise, but it just wasn't in him.

They were currently sitting in a small huddle in the waiting room, in a small grouping of chairs around a white coffee table they had found. The waiting room, unlike the parking garage, was relatively empty.

"Well, hurry up, we need to tell the doctors," Gibbs urged, managing to keep his voice down.

"I cannot simply go in there and interrupt anything they might be doing," Ducky responded. "Until her doctor, or one of her nurses, come to meet us out here, it will be a difficult wait."

When they had arrived, Ducky had tried to rush straight to Abby to supply the doctor with his findings, but he had been busy with another patient. Abby's room had been locked off with the possibility of a pesticide. The only information Ducky had been supplied with was from the lady at the front desk, who simply told him that she was alive, and nothing more. When he tried to strain the fact that she was dying, the woman said to wait for the doctor. And so he did.

The other three agents made their entrance minutes later. There was still no word from the doctor, and the three already situated relayed the information they had.

"Well, is it enough to cure her?" McGee inquired, after having received the full run-down from Jimmy.

"Not nearly," Ducky pitched in. "Only to delay…" He was close to adding _the inevitable. _But her death wasn't inevitable, in truth. Not quite yet.

Finally, the doctor was able to make an appearance. He stepped into the waiting room none too calmly. Though he wasn't on a personal level with his dying patient, the loss of life, no matter who's, was always tragic. It was his job to prevent that if possible.

Before the huddle of concerned agents and ME's could properly acknowledge them, he whisked over to them and sat down. His face was somewhat grim.

"She's in a coma," he informed them, his trained voice void of emotion.

"She's also been poisoned," Ducky said. There was a great strain in his voice. "Methanol."

The doctor gaped for a moment. Methanol wasn't naturally occurring, and for it to be this deadly it had to be injected. The same question rang in his head, though. How was she still alive? Then again, that was probably a concern for later.

"Ethanol treatment," he mused, standing up abruptly. "Dr. Mallard, Dr. Palmer, feel free to accompany me," he said, turning around and running through the doors, trailed as quickly as possible by the two doctors.

The four agents just watched, their hearts in their throats, praying that it wasn't too late. There was a very, very real possibility she could die in the next few minutes. All they could do was sit there and pray with stony faces, glaring down at the white table that Abby would despise.

"They should let Abby decorate," Tony muttered.

They all fell silent.

* * *

**(Did the page break work?)**

Alarm shot through Ducky and Gibbs like a cold tendril, eating them from the inside out as they watched helplessly. Her heart rate was slowly, ever so slowly going down, down, coming nearer and nearer to the deadly flat line. The nurses were doing everything they could to stall, but the diagnosis had been made and tested for. She had been indeed poisoned, but it wasn't everyday that Bethesda had to handle a case of methanol poisoning, and it was proving a bit difficult to find the cure.

Gibbs and Ducky, weathered old men, were accustomed to resisting the urge to fidget. The three agents plus Jimmy, however, were not; with the exception of Ziva, who was also trained not to give her position away at any cost. Jimmy was constantly readjusting his glasses on his face, dissatisfied. Tony was shifting his weight from foot to foot anxiously, and he could feel his own heart pounding. McGee couldn't seem to steady his breathing, no matter how hard he tried.

The small group refrained from making noise. Any sound put them on edge. That last shallow breath that Abby just managed to take could have been her last, and had they been talking, they might have missed it. All they could manage was to strain to listen to the telltale sound of her unsteady breathing, the shallow, restricting breaths that she was still taking. The line was dropping… dropping…

"We're losing her," a nurse reported sullenly, the one monitoring her pulse and blood pressure. Gibbs wanted to growl, _tell me something I don't know, _but managed to bite his tongue. His other agents seemed to take a collective breath, a deep one, one that they all wished they could share with their dying friend.

The beeping slowed. Abby was dying. Tears managed to find Ziva, Tony, McGee, and Jimmy, even a little hint of one in the corner of Ducky's eye. Gibbs had never cried.

At some point, when treatments started to fail, the nurses stepped back, as helpless as anything. There was nothing more they could do except view her last few minutes.

"I promised—" Gibbs choked out, but stopped.

McGee silently shook his head. Tony dabbed at his eyes in a vain effort. Ziva shied away slightly.

"Not…" Tony trailed off.

"…your fault," McGee finished for him, barely managing to conceal a sob.

"The rat," Ziva snarled softly.

Jimmy couldn't find any words. He had gone to visit her only the day before, and she had been smiling and cheery then, hadn't she? The man smiled slightly to himself, recalling his last delightful memory of Abby. Normal day, but he would no doubt treasure that brief minute he had been chatting with her for a long, long time. All he had done was bring her some old samples from Dr. Mallard—nothing more, nothing less. They had struck up a conversation, something about Chinese food, before Jimmy felt obliged to return to Dr. Mallard. That had been that.

Suddenly, reviewing the memory as clear as crystal daylight, he found something to be missing. It wasn't a patch in his memory; every detail was vivid, and it was completely unlike him to block something out, traumatic as it was. No, something was definitely missing, and it wasn't him. His smile quickly turned into a frown.

It hit him. _There had been no music playing._

She hadn't been doing one of those strange chants of hers, or anything remotely similar that required the music to be deadly silent. Her music could often reflect her mood. He should have seen it earlier… It had all been a lie, a mask, right in his face. Did he not care about his friend enough to notice the obvious signs of distress?

Something sickening entered his mind. _Had she known about the poisoning?_

"I should have…" he started before he could help it, and after a moment found his words had left him. He cleared his throat and continued despite the fact that nobody seemed to acknowledge him. "Should have no-noticed… there w-was no mu-music yest-sterday."

Gibbs noticeably tensed in front of him along with Ziva. Tony and McGee looked up at him, sorrow etched on their faces, and Ducky looked over his shoulder curiously. It wasn't often that the doctor visited Abby's lab, but he knew the symbolism the music could have.

"Could she have known?" McGee echoed Jimmy's thoughts.

They all took a moment to consider this, the slow beeping being the only sound in the room for a few undisturbed moments.

Before they could say anything, they were interrupted. Abby's rushing doctor pushed them aside, leaving apologies for later, carrying a bag filled with clear liquid that could easily pass off as water. Without needing an explanation, it became apparent this could save Abby's life, but they weren't past the crisis yet. Even as the doctor hooked it up to the IV in her hand, her heartbeat still slowed painfully.

"We might still be too late," the doctor warned them as ethanol began dripping into her bloodstream. They weren't getting their hopes up.

"Even if it works," he continued, his voice the steadiest of all, "she could still be experiencing symptoms for a while yet."

"We'll keep a close eye on Abigail," Ducky said, barely above a whisper.

"_If _she wakes up," Tony said, sorrow dripping from his tone.

"_When _she wakes up," Gibbs insisted, though the effort was futile; they all knew the chances were very real, and they weren't good.

For a frightening moment a minute or so after her body had the chance to respond to the ethanol her heartbeat became unsteady. It went from its slow rhythm to nothing for a few seconds, to one somewhat resembling a normal heartbeat, but that only happened once and didn't last long. It once again rested in a flat line for a few terrifying moments.

Then a slight beep. A slight bump in the line. That was all it took for all of them to release a sigh they hadn't known they'd been holding. It wasn't exactly the breath of life, though. Her heartbeat was still slow, horrifyingly so. They were so close to losing her…

* * *

**Inset-whats-supposed-to-be-a-page-break-here-but-stupid-ff-is-deleting-it's-own-horizontal-line-thingy**

She felt herself drifting in and out occasionally. After Gibbs' and Ducky's conversation, she had disappeared to who knows where, and lost her fragile grip on reality for a little while. It was true that in all honesty, she wasn't afraid.

What had always disturbed her about her own death, not anyone else's but her own, was not death itself. That was a relatively easy thing, if vague, she could imagine. The problem was how her death would come about. That's what humans anxiously waited their whole lives for. Now that she knew… well, it didn't frighten her so much anymore. Didn't mean she was ready to die, though.

It was like balancing on a tightrope with a cord attached to her waist. For a few brief moments her balance was steady, and she managed to tune in to the beeping. After those few relieving moments though, when she became close to waking up or gaining any of her senses back completely, a flash of pain hit her and she'd fall off that tightrope. That damn cord held her on though, it kept her from falling into the blackness below that held infinite possibilities. Then she'd hang there, in limbo, desperately trying to claw her way back to the tightrope. There, she'd continue trying to walk to the end, where a shimmery image of Gibbs, Ducky, Jimmy, Ziva, McGee, and Tony stood, fading in and out as her balance came and went.

This went on for a while, though she didn't grow bored. It was an ongoing effort that required every little ounce of her focus. If she let go, she'd fall, and that frail cord would snap and she'd disappear, disappear into the nothingness that leered at her from underneath, always a threatening possibility.

Suddenly, as she hung in limbo, the cord yanked her up roughly. When she made a grab for that thin tightrope she clawed at air. The shimmering image of her friends started to fade as the cord fell, straining, as she went down, down, nearly becoming enveloped in the darkness. She could feel herself slipping away, being pulled down into a numbness that would last forever.

Then, when she was just ready to pull herself free of the cord and let the darkness overwhelm her, the cord snapped back up and swung her towards the now solid image of her friends, her _family._

The shadowy, uncertain figure that loomed behind them, however, was what she had wished would disappear._  
_

**Please note the tightrope walking thing was completely an analogy, and just how I pictured her predicament in limbo. It doesn't mean that's how she's actually seeing it.**

**AND YAYAYAYAY I FINALLY UPDATED! SOOO HAPPY! Sorry for any grammatical mistakes and crap… yep… thanks for reading! Reviews feed the writing monster, don't ya know? Oh, and I apologize for any confusion—my ideas conflict greatly, I know. My whole life is an oxymoron.**

**Lastly, in case anyone was wondering, that thing about not being afraid of death itself but how it came about, that's a real conversation I've had with friends. Depressing, I know.  
**


	7. Where Have You Been, Abby?

It was about three nerve wracking days before she came to. For those three days her pulse, breathing, and vitals returned to normal slowly. There were false alarms, uncommon, but there were. She would come out of the coma for a brief second, twitching her eyelids or her finger, but then she'd fall right back into it.

The four agents, plus Ducky and Jimmy, were kept on their toes. Her false alarms were so brief that they had only been informed that they'd happened—not when or for how long. They did get frequent phone calls informing them that her condition was continually escalating, however, which kept them hopeful for now. The current crisis had passed.

They missed her smiling face, her snide comments, the bounce in her step that followed her everywhere. Her phone calls, her voice, everything about her, the added absence of all of it was missed. It wasn't only her absence, either. The week before she fell ill, ever since Sean's murder, she had been acting differently. It didn't escape their keen notice and, since they had a good idea as to why, they didn't pry.

In the meantime, cases came and went easily. It seemed that the "real" bad guys, those that really tried their patience every now and then, were in hiding for the moment. At first, Tony had come up with wild conspiracy theories ("They're all out to get Abby 'cause she's too smart for them!") but those had been quickly put to rest when they began to unnerve the others. For all they knew, there was always a small chance that they'd come true. They couldn't think of Abby in as much danger as they had a feeling she was in.

Eventually, Tony's joking came to a slow halt. Ziva ceased her teasing. Gibbs was snapping easily. McGee's conversation was sparse. Things just seemed absent without Abby. How someone could hate her so much was way beyond their reduced-to-primitive comprehension. It was true, they had contemplated rather seriously outside of Tony's strange ideas, but nothing seemed to make sense.

On day two of her coma, the four of them were sitting around. The air hung thickly between them like a fog. The doctors had been predicting she'd be awake by now, but she hadn't yet awoken. They were anxiously busying themselves in paperwork, but obviously their focuses were elsewhere, even Gibbs'.

Suddenly, "What can't she do?" Gibbs gruff voice pierced the air like a thunderbolt; interrupting whatever they were up to and drawing the other three's focuses instantly. After daydreaming, zoning out, or dozing off, whatever it was, it took them all a moment to understand the words uttered by none other than tough ol' Leroy Jethro Gibbs himself.

"What, boss?" McGee eventually asked, voicing their collective thoughts.

"She had that conversation with her mother, Annabelle. Annabelle began to say she couldn't do something, but Abby cut her off," he reminded them.

His voice gave him away. No longer did he feel in a place of power over them, or a higher stature. In fact, he felt rather helpless and vulnerable; on the same level as them. It couldn't show in his eyes—not those bright blue balls of ice that were so well trained to hide what he was feeling. It was his voice that did him in, the one thing that he hadn't trained to shield himself with, because he had never thought he'd need to.

Tony picked up on that note. They all felt the same way; they were all swimming in the same pool of useless concern. From this, he took a bold move in saying, "Well, boss, we don't know."

Gibbs bit back his tongue to prevent himself from sharply responding, _"Well find out, DiNozzo." _What prevented him from doing so was the simple fact that he knew they were all in the same place and he just sighed instead and was quiet for a while.

They could speculate all they wanted, but it would get them nowhere. Ideas and stories wouldn't win anyone over. They needed the leads they didn't have, the answers they couldn't seek, and the connections they couldn't make. A sprinkling of frustration was added to the strange mix of emotions they were all sharing. Who could have known Abby would have such an effect on them?

Apparently, someone did, because that's what he preyed on. For him, it was like a lion catching a fat rabbit. Just too easy; they were practically handing it to him on a silver platter.

* * *

That rope that she clung to had been bouncing annoyingly for who knows how long. Time was an empty meaning in the trap that her mind had become. It was almost claustrophobic, despite the endless expanse of blackness and possibilities. She felt isolated in a place where technically she should be free, but she found that she felt frozen, alone, and mostly, afraid.

At some point, after desperate clawing and failed attempts, she managed to land on the tightrope again. For a while she clung to it as if her very life depended on it, which, for all she knew, it very well might. Gasps escaped her rhythmically, though she was far from out of breath. It was just an action that assisted her in conveying her fear to nobody in particular, if her trembling hadn't given her away already. Despite this fact, the rope didn't shake with her. It stayed solid and still so that she had no chance of falling.

When she managed to calm her breathing she took a chance and looked up. Surprisingly, that shimmery image she had been watching endlessly ever since she nearly fell into that… that _hell_, was solid and as clear as crystal and as vivid as a photo, framed in gold. Even more surprising, they, in this picture her mind had conjured up, were right in front of her. It was just another few steps until she could reach them. She could see their eyes and every sculpt of their expressions, those that she had memorized.

What disturbed her more was the fact that the first word that had come to mind when she thought of the thing below her was _hell._ In fact, she didn't even know if that was what it was. She didn't even know if it was death, though she found that it was easy to assume this. Her head swam as she tried to comprehend that remote mass she had encountered, but it felt real, and something flickered in her eyes for a moment before it faded. Something just told her, some unreal feeling, that what lay below was not a place she wanted to be, and that kept her going.

No. Most definitely, she wanted to be with the people that loved her.

When she found that she couldn't crawl in this obviously distressed position, she realized that whatever force was holding her here wanted her to stand up. It wanted her to stand up and face _it_, whatever _it_ was, with as much strength as possible, as much as she could muster from herself. Another something told her _because she was going to need it more than she could ever know. _With that, she took another deep breath.

Somehow, she was steady on that rope as she stood up. The cord around her held her tightly in place, securing her, assuring her safety in this imaginary place. It tugged her forward lightly, but when she felt she didn't want to yet, it stopped. For a moment, she looked down into the blackness as if trying to analyze and understand it, despite the fact that she was aware that it was a futile attempt, and all of a sudden, she felt the most fear she had ever remembered feeling in her life when yet again, she drew the conclusion that she was unable to do so.

Then she looked up again. The image looked so promising, so safe and comforting, that she completely overlooked the shadowy figure. She braced herself and took baby steps towards them, feeling unsteady, but secretly knowing there was no way she could ever fall again, not while she was here.

Finally, she was on that ledge, and the flash came back. This time, it was clearer though.

* * *

A tiled white ceiling. She tried again to focus. Beeping. Again… again… a rush. Dizziness. Sick… sick… where…? It wasn't dark anymore. Where had that gone? She was spinning… no… no… falling? Suspended? Who? Where…?

* * *

**(There is supposed to be a page break here, but of course, it's just showing up as a blank. Stupid FF.)**

"Gibbs," he deadpanned into the phone. He refused to get his hopes up, despite the almost overwhelming urge to.

"_She's awake." _

_Thunk._

Tony, McGee, and Ziva, seemingly in the same positions they had been in the previous day, looked up with startled alarm at the intruding noise. A million possibilities swirled in their heads, none of which they could place as they watched Gibbs drop his phone, none too gently, onto the floor, creating the offending thunk.

His expression, eyes, everything was unreadable. The voice he wasn't using was unable to convey to them the emotions and thoughts he was hiding behind his cool facade.

When he stood up abruptly, Ziva, Tony, and McGee instantly started gearing up automatically.

"Stop."

They did.

They dropped their belongings without a moment's hesitation. There were few places at the moment that they would go so quickly without their gear.

Hope brightened all of them like the sunlight breaking through a cloud. It showed on their faces, in their eyes, even in the smiles that they couldn't resist. A clinging hope was becoming a reality. Tony even breathed a short sigh of relief. Even frosty Gibbs, seeing their alighted faces, couldn't resist a smile of his own.

Gibbs barely remembered to phone autopsy before rushing out after his three agents, all four of them barely having the patience to wait for their ME's.

* * *

Thankfully, the nurses were accustomed to patients and friends and family of said patients. They were allowed in within a minute of stepping into that white waiting room. The room that Abby had been transferred to with her consciousness was small and somewhat cramped, but they were all more than happy to get over it and squeeze in.

Seats were drawn with Gibbs and Tony dominating her sides. Ziva and McGee came as close as they could, and Ducky and Jimmy sat at the foot of her bed.

They waited expectantly for her to be the first to say or do something. A hint of relief graced her features and hid behind her green eyes. As if to prove that point, her fingers kept drumming softly against the sheets, or she'd shift her weight back onto the pillows, but other than that she didn't move much.

Her jet black hair was splayed across the pillow as it was whenever she slept. The IV was still pumping a steady stream of ethanol and morphine into her bloodstream. While the worst of the side effects were gone, as they had all been informed upon first stepping in, she would still experience some remnants of the pain. The chances of blindness, severe fatigue, and possible coma had all passed.

They couldn't pay attention to the bland whiteness of the room that Abby disliked so much, or the contrast her pale skin and jet black hair and green eyes had against the white pillows. All they could focus on was straining to hear her voice again after what seemed like years, or if they were lucky, view her smile, the smile that only she could give. The smile that could light the darkest of rooms.

The smile that didn't seem to want to appear any time soon.

"W…" she stammered breathlessly, struggling to find her voice. It was a simple yet difficult and trying task, after having been in disuse for three days, but she tried clearing her throat. Six pairs of beyond relieved eyes were trained on her, much to her well hidden discomfort.

"W-where a-am I…?" It appeared as if she wanted to ask something more, but her raspy voice had given out as quickly as it had come. A deep breath filled her lungs and she coughed in response and in an attempt to help clear her chest and make talking easier.

"You are in the hospital, Abby," Ziva informed her softly.

Her face showed her next question before her voice could relay it.

"Methanol poisoning," Ducky supplied.

She took a few silent moments to consider this, her expression turning into one of slight fear. Then again, that was the only expression of hers that they seemed to remember from recent days, and it made all their hearts fall just a little.

When she didn't respond, Gibbs took the moment to probe. "Did you know anything about this, Abbs?" As a father might, he let his comforting hand move towards her and brush some stray black hair from her face, also serving the purpose of getting her attention on the matter at hand.

When his hand left her forehead, his attempts to regain her focus worked. She turned her head slightly to look at him, for the first time feeling the lack of strength that had seemed to sap from her like water after the exhaustion from the effort of waking up. Then again, it was worth it.

"No."

They didn't question her answer; they just treasured hearing her voice again.

All seriousness aside, friendship and worry took over in what seemed to be the blink of an eye.

"You scared us there, Abbs," Tony said, a small smile on his lips. She tried to respond but ended up with a light cough instead and Gibbs absently shushed her.

She focused on breathing—both her own and theirs—as the endless seconds ticked by, those that hadn't existed in her world earlier. The fact that time now had a meaning to her yet again gave her a needed respite from the fear she had felt in the trap, as she was now mentally referring to _it_. _It_ was incomprehensible now that she was out and back in reality, however, and she knew she'd never be able to explain to them how close she had come to… to _it._

They all seemed to be at a loss for words. Abby was the one that held all of the things left unsaid, and she was currently struggling. But she managed with a constant pattern of steady, if somewhat raspy, breaths. Gibbs sandwiched her thin, pale hand in between both of his own, rubbing steady, comforting circles on the back of her hand absently with his thumb. Tony refrained from touch, almost as if he thought it was too good to be true.

"Welcome back, Abbs," McGee finally said, but not just for himself; he said it for all of them. A shared look passed through all of them. Abby wanted to smile, but she just couldn't. It tortured her on the inside, but on the outside, she just looked thankful. And she was. She had her family who would go to any lengths to keep her safe and alive. From their sunken eyes and slight trembling here and there, she could observe without difficulty how much they really did care about her wellbeing while she was out.

Finally, after a few attempts, she found her voice. "Glad to be back," she said, just above a whisper, trying to say as little as possible.

"Home…?" was her next question, and the fact that it sounded just like her brought a collection of smiles onto the dysfunctional family's faces.

"Not soon enough," Tony informed her wistfully.

Abby took in his answer for a moment, searching his face, remembering every curve and every contour in case anything like this ever happened again, and there was no cord to hold on to. Inwardly she shuddered at the thought of falling into the trap, and outwardly she tried to sit up in order to allow the discomfort to pass.

When she found that she lacked the strength to complete the action independently, both Gibbs and Tony gently leaned forward and helped prop her up on the pillows. McGee fumbled with the small remote control that controlled her bed and slowly pressed the _up _button, and with it, the bed rose with a quiet buzzing noise until she was in a sitting position.

"I feel better," Abby suddenly announced in her voice that was just above a whisper.

They were all just so glad, Abby included. Happiness filled them like a golden potion, bubbling and spilling over into a puddle that they all shared with Abby. She needed those golden drops of their joy at her awakening and her improved, and improving, condition.

"You should find yourself at home again soon, Abigail," Ducky informed her gently.

At the word "home," all she could think of was her lab, filled with Bert and Caf-Pows and the beeping of her machines that lulled her into a sense of shelter and familiarity. These were the small aspects that she had a feeling she would never take for granted.

Something also told her, thinking about every little thing in her lab in a great sweep of her mind, that this ordeal wasn't over yet. In fact, that gut feeling was very, very much correct. Sickeningly, she knew that, all too well.

* * *

**Yay, felt like updating and I did! I have plots for the next 2 chapters, and at the moment, I can't possibly guess how many chapters I'm planning for here. Anyway, R&R—Reviews inspire me!**


	8. What Are You Thinking, Abby?

**Warning: Minor mentions of suicide—don't worry, nobody's dying! By the way, I haven't been receiving nearly enough reviews...  
**

As the days went by in the hospital, Abby was kept far from bored. There was always a constant vigil, even during the hours of the night, when she was asleep, a makeshift bed was set up on the floor by the window and someone would sleep the night with her. It wasn't as much for protection as it was for that feeling of familiarity that Abby clung to. She wouldn't admit it to them, but secretly, she loved their company, and they loved hers. It wouldn't make up for the missing hours in the lab, but it was better than nothing.

Occasionally, she would experience some of the leftover symptoms. Unless it got too bad, it usually passed pretty quickly, and soon started to cease occurring at all. Abby slowly regained her strength that had deteriorated with the methanol, and much to her relief, the memory of The Trap left her as well. Back in the comfort of her "family," she felt as if things might actually end okay, even so early in this whole ordeal. What "okay" actually meant she wasn't sure, though. Even so, she never shared her concerns with her team. They didn't deserve to be burdened now.

They were pushing their limits more than she was, truth be told. Ziva once stayed up two nights straight and literally passed out in the middle of saying something to Abby. The scientist later informed her that they had been having a conversation, and then Ziva switched into Hebrew and Abby had amusedly kept silent before Ziva stopped, seemingly in the middle of a sentence, and keeled over. At that point McGee replaced her.

That had been the worst, and most amusing, instance, however. They were all returning to their normal dispositions with Abby's recovery. Abby didn't see why her poisoning had taken such a toll on them. It wasn't like her life hadn't been endangered before. Besides, there were many worse situations that could take place. Whenever she insisted on this path of conversation with any one of them, Ducky and Jimmy included, they'd shush her but would never give her an explanation. It somewhat frustrated her but she kept quiet about it.

Mostly, she held up conversation during her last days in the hospital. After a while, though, even Abby couldn't keep up a constant stream of thoughts, so she'd sleep or watch television. Once or twice she dreamed about The Trap and she'd wake up, but there was always someone there to comfort her. Knowing what she did, this all agitated her, but she knew if she even mentioned it…

Once, she had the nerve to remind Tony of Sean's case. His smirk had quickly turned into a frown as he had studied her and she waited patiently. Tony would never admit, but her statement had reminded him they still had no leads and that the guy that had murdered Abby's brother and had dosed her with a deadly poison just to cause her pain was still out there. They hadn't done a psychic profile on him yet, what with everything that was going on with Abby and things had been moving at a snail's pace back at NCIS, and they had no idea if he would chance striking again. The thought shook him but he managed to change the subject before it really sunk in. The topic was forgotten.

The last two days in the hospital, Abby was walking steadily on her own and was experiencing no symptoms or nightmares. She seemed back to normal and all that remained was a ghost of what she had been feeling. The doctors had deemed her stable and that she would be fine on her own and needed no further assistance. The ethanol drip was removed, along with the morphine, and she was home rather quickly. The whole team had picked her up and dropped her off, seeing to it that she was comfortable at home. They bought her a few groceries, did a bit of cleaning, and then had to return to work. She'd be returning to work the next day. For the remainder of her first day at home, she slept.

When she did finally return to work, it was on her own, and she was warmly greeted by the team, Ducky and Jimmy, and even the Director. There was a bouquet of black roses waiting for her, taped to the doors of her lab, along with a card signed by everyone. It seemed childish, really, but nothing was too childish for Abby. That's even what the card said, in Gibbs handwriting. Any concerns Abby held vanished when she returned that first day and everywhere she went she had that signature Abby smile. Unfortunately, that only lasted for the first day.

After that, her smile returned to the one that didn't reach her eyes, and she made frequent visits to autopsy to see her brother. All she ever said was "I'm sorry," and then she'd leave. Ducky and Jimmy were always there to witness these little meetings and she never seemed to mind. They'd be curious, but they never asked her about it. It was extremely personal and, as Ducky had taught Jimmy, they had no business questioning her in the fragile state they pictured her in.

Mentally, she knew the way that they saw her in that way, like a porcelain doll that was just glued back together. Whether she actually felt that way, she wasn't entirely sure. She was still agitated and guilty about her brother's painful murder. It really was starting to get to her, now that she'd had the time to fully think it through. Gibbs and Ziva admitted to catching her sitting there at her computers, staring off into nothingness until they snapped her out of it. The small cases continually came and went and any idiot that bothered with a Naval Officer was quickly reprimanded and shipped off to prison.

The case of Sean Sciuto had gone cold, much to Abby's obvious anxiety. There were no leads, since he hadn't struck again—yet. Knowing this put Abby on edge and the visits to her lab became more frequent. They didn't help. What they didn't know is that no matter what they did, they would never help.

* * *

It was a week after having been released from the hospital that Abby came into work as normal, only to find an envelope closed with a seal on her desk, addressed to her. When she flipped it over to discover the absence of a return address, her blood ran cold. Letters like these were always suspicious, but she couldn't get her mind to think that way, no matter how rational Abby knew it was. She shouldn't open it, but she did anyway.

Thankfully, it was a simple letter, typed on a plain piece of paper in plain ink with nothing else accompanying it. Abby resolved to take the time later to double check it, and was about to read it before her lab phone started ringing.

Abby was somewhat glad that she was "saved by the bell," but saved from what, she wasn't sure. Carefully she folded the unread letter again and set it down on her desk, giving it one last questioning glance before answering the phone.

"_Hey, Abbs. Tony and Ziva got takeout, they wondered if you wanted any," _McGee's voice came through the phone.

"It better still be hot," she chirped, but unknown to McGee, lacking her smile. She didn't smile when she didn't have to.

Without another word, afraid McGee might get too McCurious as Tony might say, she hung up. She stole one last glance at the open letter on her desk before making her way back up to the bullpen to spend time with her friends, something she felt she hadn't done enough of lately.

"How can cookies predict the future?" Ziva questioned, turning a fortune cookie over in her hand, as if examining it for some mystical traces. The smell of chicken and rice filled the air.

"It's a fortune cookie, Zee-vah," Tony smirked. When he offered no further explanation, McGee stepped in.

"They don't."

"Nope, they just hold creepy little pieces of paper," Abby falsely smiled. It put the other three agents in a fake sense of ease. That was all Abby was aiming for.

Ziva gave them all a look before none too gently snapping the cookie in half and nearly ripping the paper inside along with it.

"Geez, Ziva, what did the cookie do to you?" Tony mocked.

"Nothing, but I have a whole lot more reason to do the same thing to you," she responded, and that shut him up pretty fast. McGee and Abby shared a grin.

Ziva held up the little piece of white paper with red text on it. She studied it for a moment before reading it aloud. "Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer," she read, frowning. "These are strange things to say."

When she turned the paper over, she read her lucky numbers aloud as well. "It says my lucky numbers are four, seven, eleven, and nineteen."

"Four is extremely unlucky in China," Tony remarked, acting as if he knew everything on purpose.

"There are seven of us, plus Gibbs, Ducky, and Jimmy," McGee pitched in.

When they could come up with nothing for eleven, Abby grimly supplied a correlation for nineteen. "My brother is—was—nineteen."

For the first time, the three agents studied her closely in surprise. They saw how distraught she really was as she let the obvious feelings mask her real thoughts. Her eyes were downcast and her frown was scrunched to the side in displeasure, her fingers subconsciously playing with a pen she picked up off Gibbs' desk.

A minute or so passed and everyone was unsure of what to say. They didn't blame Abby for putting them in this semi awkward situation; she had to get it out eventually, and what better time than over Chinese takeout and creepy cookies?

"Sorry," she apologized, breaking the strange silence of the bullpen.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Abby," Ziva instantly countered her.

Abby shook her head, feeling the air of the afternoon lost, decided it was best that she take the new awkwardness with her. It wasn't exactly pleasant, and her dedicated friends really didn't deserve it when it was all her fault anyway.

"I got a letter earlier, I should probably go read it," Abby excused herself quietly, slipping off of Gibbs' desk and accidentally untwisting the pen, letting the spring loose. As she had on the drunken night she spent with Gibbs while Mikel was after her, she just dropped the remaining plastic pieces of the pen on his desk next to the spring. "Oops" was all she said before all but running down the stairs to her lab.

"She needs some time to herself," Ziva stated rationally and the two men with her nodded slowly in wistful agreement.

* * *

Back down in her lab, Abby felt pulled to the letter. She couldn't exactly explain it, but whatever the excuse was that helped her out of that situation she had bestowed upon should be worth her attention. Automatically she checked behind her to make sure nobody was following her down as they had taken to doing before turning over to her desk and taking a seat. The letter stood still, folded neatly on her desk, taunting her. Finally, she opened it.

The text in front of her held no meaning at first. Even though her eyes raked over it, she couldn't bring herself to understand the words. It was as if it was in another language, or as if her mind were keeping her from reading it. She bit her lip gently and took a steadying breath before really reading it this time, forcing her stubborn mind to comprehend.

_Abigail Sciuto,_

_Hope you had fun in the hospital. I didn't exactly enjoy my stay there, either. No thanks to you._

_You know, I was… _concerned _for you once I did get out of that hellhole. Apparently, I've had good reason to be, haven't I? You know what I've observed?_

_You're so dimwitted sometimes, Abigail. Naïve, stupid, whatever you'd like to call yourself, if you can't even see what's right in front of your face. And you know what's right there?_

_What's right there is that they don't care, and nobody's left to. Ever wonder why your family never calls? They don't care about you. They let you leave in the blink of an eye, didn't stop you, didn't question you, now did they? What's worse is your current "family," Abigail. How long are you going to go on believing the same lie with them, that they really care? The business they're in, Abigail, they're good at creating illusions and false beliefs. That's what they do for a living. They need your skills, so they do that to you too. Don't you see it?_

_You're just the lab rat, Abigail. They take you for granted. Don't you remember when you told them how you felt? They cared for, what, a few minutes? They just pretend._

_And you know what? I'm the only person left to bother telling you. I don't care, either. I hate you, Abigail Sciuto, but I'm sure you know that. I outright despise you. I hate you, and so does everyone else. Don't you ever wonder, or question? Right, you're too stupid._

_Look, why don't you save the time and just kill yourself now? Nobody would care, nobody would notice, nobody does now, anyway. Save me the time, too, you rat. You're a selfish bitch._

_Do us all a favor. Die._

_Sincerely…_

She didn't have to look at the signature to know who it was from. And as she couldn't help but read over it again, she saw the truth in his sick words, even though she knew that his words weren't true in the first place. They made sense to her. She knew that they cared, of course, but she was just the lab rat, the underdog, the one that was always taken for granted and not given the light of day enough, literally and metaphorically. That didn't mean she was about to take her life due to some crazy's theories, but it disturbed her to see that she wouldn't hold back, if given the chance.

She wasn't depressed. Not at all, not really, just afraid for others, as usual. Could she really be so selfish as to force them to go through this? If she did… no, she wouldn't… but… it would never be for him. Any course of action she took—she felt better putting it that way—would never be for him or influenced by him in anyway. He would never gain that satisfaction. Then again, she wasn't about to commit suicide.

There had to be a way out that didn't involve suicide, but did spare them at the same time. She knew his plan all too frighteningly well, and he was sending her this little warning on a piece of paper, sealed expertly into an envelope, hand delivered to her lab. At least he had that compassion.

For the remainder of that day she sat, thinking how this was so unlike her, but she had to, and they'd understand later. Eventually.

Then an idea came to mind.


	9. What Broke You, Abby?

**Guys, the two reviews per chapter from always supportive duo ladybugsmomma and STLFAN are sweet, but still. Is my story really that bad? At this point, I'm only continuing because I like the story. I don't support a relationship between Abby and Gibbs other than father/daughter (Pauly Perrette mentioned she sees Abby's father as dead, which is a mistake I made earlier and please excuse me for that; I might make up for it later). Since Abby has no father and Gibbs no daughter… yeah. So, sorry about the lack of romance. By the way, let it be known I do not do filler chapters!  
**

**Anyway, take a deep breath and try your best to enjoy, even if it sucks. Thanks for the effort.**

The Gibbs team was greeted the next day by a warm sun, fresh smelling air, and a general feeling of energy. That morning, Gibbs only came in with one cup of coffee and even McGee was somewhat repelled by the idea of being in front of a stinging monitor all day. Tony and Ziva were going at it constantly, following the stream of positive liveliness that had come about that day. Apparently, whatever blessing Mother Nature had decided to put upon the Navy Yard had followed through with the idiots that messed with naval officers.

Cases were slow, and that was an understatement. The biggest happening that had occurred was a gun misfiring at a Petty Officer's daughter, who had been egging her boyfriend on to try a shot with a rifle and her father had gotten over protective. Gibbs was less than happy with the ridiculousness of the situation, but with the day they were having, he felt that he couldn't interrupt anything. Even he managed to bite his sarcastic tongue.

Paperwork was the unofficial method to passing the time while still doing something productive. McGee was none too happy with this apparently agreed upon productive time-killer, but an icy stare and a sharp comment from Gibbs put him in his place and he was quiet for a while. Ziva didn't do nearly as much complaining as the two men, but she would occasionally ask her fellow teammates if a word was spelled or used correctly in her work. Tony had the least amount of patience out of the three young agents, and was constantly getting distracted by appealing websites and emails on his computer. Somehow, though, he managed to get work done, and Gibbs managed not to complain. As long as the monkey was getting work done, who was he to protest? It wasn't that often that DiNozzo worked this effeciently, anyway.

What interest Gibbs had in Tony's affairs had been spiked as he paused in his paperwork, the pen in his hand hovering above the paper. The bullpen was relatively quiet and it seemed as if the whole of the Navy had come to an unspoken agreement to shut their whiny mouths and leave NCIS alone today. When Gibbs couldn't get his mind to focus again, he let his pen down quietly on the paper and stole a glance up at his agents.

It wasn't just Tony that had his curiosity peaked. It was all of his monkeys, Tony very much included. They all seemed cheerier now, with Abby back up and running. Everything just seemed so positive all of a sudden, like Abby was the sun breaking through storm clouds. Like daughter like father, Gibbs wondered why such a subtle attack had had such a toll on his agents. Sure, for a while, he was shaken up there himself, when Abby had been _this _close to leaving them permanently. The thought still bothered him, but it was over and done with. He hadn't gone around moping like his agents seemed to have done. It was just their responses that had his inquisitiveness on a leash.

The team didn't see Abby often. It was him that went down to the lab to receive discoveries, to deliver her trusty Caf-Pows, to give her a kiss on the cheek and reassure her when fear found its way into her soft heart. He rarely ever gave his agents the chance to visit her on their own, which was not an issue to him at all. Ducky and Jimmy were another matter entirely, one that he wasn't focused on at the moment.

It was at this moment that Gibbs' train of thought was interrupted when yet again, Ziva lifted her head to ask how to properly spell "rapture" from an old case a few months ago. At this, an antsy Tony couldn't resist throwing a balled up piece of paper at her that he had been crumpling in his hands minutes before Ziva decided to address the team this time. His aim earned him a triumphant smile as he hit her dead-on in the forehead with precise accuracy. Ziva, startled, jumped from her seat and sent a profanity his way, which inspired him to make a sarcastic remark to counter her, which got them into it all over again. McGee glanced up briefly distracted with a tinge of amusement before delving back into his paperwork. He wanted this paperwork behind him so he could get back to his electronics, but his teammates, Gibbs included, insisted that it was healthy for him to spend some time away from the monitor on such a nice day. Did he have a choice with them around?

The patriarch of the bullpen shook his gray head in slight amusement as well, managing to find his way back to his thread of thought. What had unexpectedly hit him about this whole Abby-getting-poisoned-thing was the fact that his agents visibly cared on such a personal level. It tugged at his concrete internal walls at the mental confession that he really had seen his agents as so much more inhumane than they were—_are. _It had transpired to him how closely his team resembled a family, if severely dysfunctional. Truth be told, with this conclusion came reprieve, and his mind at ease, Gibbs managed to slip easily back into paperwork with a new vigor. Eventually, Ziva's Hebrew curses and Tony's endless remarks died down and they both calmed and they too continued on with their assignments.

* * *

Such constant involvement made it easy for the four gathered agents not to notice the fact that Abby never walked in that morning. Yet, Gibbs had made a visit to her later that day and she appeared as ecstatic about work as ever. Once he had left her lab she watched his back with a victorious smirk; she had entered the building through the back entrance to autopsy, where Ducky had received her with a playful chuckle and sent her on her way to the area where she dominated.

Behind their backs, Abby felt, to say the least, torn. She had chosen her path and was now obligated to stick with it by her own vices. Still, she felt extremely guilty, and was constantly questioning herself. Since pre-k, she had learned there was a line between right and wrong that could never blur, but had she managed it? In essence, was she doing the right thing? She kept lamely convincing herself that she was, but she couldn't stop herself from pushing her decision. Obviously, she was incapable of informing her team; if she did, it could compromise so much more than she was willing to bargain with. By doing what she had already decided on, she was gambling with too much already, but by not doing it, a nagging feeling told her that she would be to blame for so much worse. Her only reassurance in her choice was that they would learn later, they would know, no matter how much they hated her for it now. That was also the downside; she was more thoroughly convinced that they'd hate her, and soon.

A pained sigh escaped from between her lipstick covered lips as she clung gently to Bert, listening intently to the silence as if it would divulge to her the answers she sought and the torture that had become her own mind. It hurt more to know that even this, whatever "this" ended up being, hadn't fallen under the great acknowledgement of Gibbs yet. If even he couldn't tell, would anyone come to save her? Did she really need saving? Would she allow anyone to rescue her? Would they ever have the chance?

_No, _she resolved. _No, they won't._

All it took was an opportunity. Unknown to her, this response was just what he wanted.

* * *

The positivity stuck around for a few days like a pleasant fog, keeping everybody in NCIS in its embrace. It was definitely a welcoming respite for the team. In all honesty, to the three younger agents, Abby's absence had sapped their energy during those days where she had been in a weakened condition, and she had become the team's band-aid. Take it off, leave a cut. Put it on, it heals. Abby was that band-aid. What deceived them was that they thought she saw their situation similarly to the way they saw it.

* * *

Feeling more confident and refreshed, Gibbs one day tentatively brought up the troubling and looming case of Sean Sciuto to his team during a day where Mother Nature decided to send a light rain their way, which was quickly turning into a full blown storm.

The rain pattered heavily against the thick glass of the NCIS building. Just minutes ago it had been light and rapid, now it was heavy and hard, and soon the irregular pattern of rain fell into the steady rhythm of an approaching thunder storm. It was under this lulling sensation that Gibbs dared bring up what had been vanquished to the back of everyone's minds.

"Any progress on Sean Sciuto?" he asked out of the blue, though none too casually. Just the name visibly chilled all of them, even flickered in Gibbs' weathered face for the weakest of moments. Ziva, Tony, and McGee all appeared to have been winded, as if punched individually in the stomachs.

Tony could swear he heard his heart pounding in his chest. This was a topic of conversation easily avoided with Abby; even though it was more personal to her, it seemed as if she were as eager to stray as far from it as possible as they were. Gibbs had brought it to Tony's attention that, as childish as it was, their wishes for this case to simply be gone would never come true. Tony felt like a kid, and the feeling alone silenced him. McGee, surprisingly, felt similarly.

Ziva, on the other hand, always had a hidden reserve of confidence that assisted her in slamming head first through invisible brick walls. This was one of those situations where this ability of hers came in rather handy. She was the first to find her words again, and when she did, they came out short and hesitantly, but they did nonetheless.

"No, Gibbs," she said, her tone voicing what nobody else could; the fact that they'd been just plain evading it altogether.

Gibbs sighed, unsure of how to best approach the tender topic. It just had to be done, and what better time?

"Let's interview Abby again," Gibbs forced himself to say. The other agents shared his discomfort, but they knew that they should get through it anyway, because it might be the key to putting all this behind them.

"I'll go get her," McGee announced, his voice deflated as he made his way to the elevator. When Gibbs stood Ziva and Tony followed suit, and they unwillingly made their way up the stairs to the interrogation room. Thankfully, as they entered and waited patiently for McGee to drop Abby off on the other side of the one-way glass, memories didn't plague them. The only thing that did descend on them was a constant ringing in their ears as Abby's faded, laced with pain screams bounced and echoed against the walls and the glass, mocking them with secrets they couldn't grasp. But that's why they were here, wasn't it?

For a minute, silence descended and covered the three in the interrogation room like a blanket. That was until the heavy door on the other side swung open with a gentle creak and the dark haired forensic scientist made her way in. Emotions registered on her face like a slideshow, but they came and went so quickly that they couldn't be placed. Doubled with the fact that she had her head bowed over the table and that she was disguising her emotions as best as possible, profiling her became an impossible task and the three agents studying her gave up on the attempt.

When McGee joined them on their side of the glass, leaving Abby alone in the spotlight that she did not enjoy in the least, he hurriedly let it be known that he would most definitely _not _be the one to "interview" Abby. Gibbs agreed halfheartedly and pointed out reasonably that he might be too intimidating to the young woman. Ziva was the rock that provided little comfort, leaving big brother Tony to do the dirty work. He muttered something inaudible under his breath as he was inevitably chosen, and he regretfully made his way to Abby's side.

When he did, she raised her head slowly at first; contemplating the messenger they had sent. Seeing it was Tony made it somewhat easier, and somewhat more difficult, to have to go through with this interrogation, pretending that everything in the world of Abby was fine and dandy. They understood that it was possible that it wasn't, but not in the way Abby wished they did. Communication never was her strong point.

"Abbs," Tony sighed as he sank into the seat across from her in a tone a parent might use with their children to say _"what are we going to do with you."_

"Yeah?" she asked, her voice surprisingly steadier than Tony had expected. He eyed her for a moment.

"I'm going to get right to the point," he said, his distaste for their current position palpable. "Tell me who the killer is."

It become apparent that he might have chosen his words poorly when she winced at the word _killer_, but the lack of vocal response from her gave him the a-okay to persist. Unfortunately, he had nothing left to say.

She fidgeted, seeming to weigh her options, when really, she's pondering how best to phrase an answer that satisfies him, yet doesn't give her away. It was killing her, slowly chipping away at what self preservation she held. She had wanted to take her chance, her opportunity to make this complicated plight easier, but it was passing by her as she lost her self control. No matter how firm she seemed to stay in her decision, it seemed to bend, and, broke. Her resolve crumbled in one final hit, and with it, a choked up sob escaped her.

It caught Tony's attention, and he realized his fears had been confirmed; something was wrong, and whatever it was, he seemed to have hit the nail on the head. Hell, he had barely uttered a sentence! The last thing he wanted to do was this—to cause this crying that was fast approaching—but he had to. It was his obligation as a metaphorical big brother and as a close friend to get through to her, no matter what measures it took.

And cried she did. It was just himself and Abby when tears started leaking out of the corners of her eyes, creating streaks on her cheeks that he hadn't seen in quite some time. Soft sobs emanated from her fragile body, her inner resolve having come to ruins. Instinctively, Tony reached out and let his hand rest on her shoulder, though it didn't seem to pull her out of her current state. Unsure, he sat there and compelled himself to sit through it, and it seemed to be more difficult for him than it was for her.

All of a sudden, she looked up at him strangely, like a guilty child caught drawing on the walls. Before he could even register alarm at her bizarre behavior, she was out of her seat, tears now flowing freely like a dam had broken.

Abby was berating herself as she allowed the spiteful tears to come and make themselves known, right in front of Tony and unseen to her, Ziva, McGee, and Gibbs. Ignorance was most certainly bliss. Knowledge weighed her down and, unable to comprehend, she was out of her seat before she knew it, and was out that door and down that hall, facing a curtain of uncertainty.

Though they chased after her, her feet carried her out before they could reach her, telling her that she was going the right way and she had just brought this on herself. Moments later she disappeared into a dark sheet of rain, most likely getting soaked clear to the bone.

The team stood speechless, Gibbs included, watching as the rain continued pouring down, hiding sinful secrets of its own and failing to wash them away.


	10. Where'd It Take You, Abby?

**HUGEEE thanks to ladybugsmomma, who has been nothing but supportive through this whole story and I could never ever repay her, so thank you! So I hope you guys can stomach this chapter, although I tried to put more action in than expanding on topics. By the way, I'm currently watching the new episode of NCIS - "One Last Score". xDD oh, look, an Abby cut-shot (as in the black and white scene... yeahh...)! Aww, what a cute stutter. Yeah, I'm writing this AN while watching :) So far, I count three Abby scenes. RANT WARNING: Poor Abby, she's my favorite character and nobody ever pays attention to her! In this episode, I don't even see Gibbs and Abby speaking - at all! No kiss on the cheek, no Caf-Pows, no nothing! Grrr! Oh well, the new character is pretty... I guess... and nice... I don't know. Gahh! I bet you're not reading this, and I seriously don't blame you.  


* * *

**

The rain wasn't parting to allow its intruder an easy path through its midst. If anything, it came down harder, and the young woman was fortunate that it wasn't thundering and lightning. The rain on its own was just as bad, though.

It came down in thick, wet sheets, soaking her hair through until she could feel raindrops racing down her unmasked, downtrodden face, from her forehead to her chin, revealing to nobody in particular the emotions she had been containing. The raindrops dripped off her chin and off the tips of her pigtails onto the ground, mixing in with the rapidly pooling puddles that her boots kept splashing in methodically. They weren't made for rain, though, and the cold water soaked in through her socks, freezing her feet until they were numb. Somehow, they still kept walking, one in front of the other.

She was completely drenched through, and she fought the need to sneeze. The freezing rain, the dark, the emotional exhaustion threatening to overwhelm her; none of it could be healthy. Yet she felt she needed to keep it together, to protect those she loved most. She admitted to herself that it sounded completely cliché; the secretive friend making stupid moves to keep her oblivious friends out of danger. Her mouth twisted to the side in an attempted smirk, but when it didn't work, she let herself relax again and instead felt embarrassed.

Her footsteps and the rain and the plopping of the puddles were the only sounds she could hear. Nobody was stupid enough to come out in the pouring rain like this. Most people would rather go hungry for a night then be out here in this. Even the cars were stopped, as if lulled into a temporary state of paralysis. That's kind of how she felt, except she wasn't paralyzed, further proven by her feet which wouldn't listen to sense and wouldn't quit moving.

Her thoughts weren't coming to her clearly. They were in a jumbled mess, so much so that she couldn't focus on just one. Some did repeat themselves, more than others for sure, but other than that, it all seemed completely meaningless.

Now that she had nothing to lose, she cried. Barely at first, but after a little while, it just started and wouldn't cease. Her salty tears blended in with the biting rain that pounded against her relentlessly and stole her tears away with it. The sound of her pathetic sobbing and sniffling mixed in with the measured sounds already surrounding her like flies. There was nothing to lose now, and it was all her fault, how could she have made such a grave mistake? It seemed so innocent, too.

"But how can anyone expect me to do this?" she questioned herself aloud. "I'm not made to do this! This isn't what Abbys do!" she cried out hoarsely, her stubborn pace finally slowing.

Where she was, she had no clue, none at all, and it didn't bother her. All she knew was the next moment realization weighed her down like an anchor and she dropped to her knees when her legs were too cold to support her and she managed to still her forward movement. Her knees hit hard pavement and she nearly gave out right there when pain briefly overwhelmed her other senses, but was soon drowned out by the sky's own tears. A small trickle of crimson blood that had come from her scraped knees was washed away only seconds later. She bent her head over and finally, completely allowed herself to shed her own tears, ones that had been in hiding ever since. Oh, how she would pay gravely, but now, there was no turning back.

Memories of her and her brother filled her thoughts and provided a temporary respite as she dwelled on them. Warmth tickled her skin as she looked back to happy times. Not that her current ones with the team weren't happy. Well, they had been, before… before…

"Before he killed Sean," she muttered unhappily.

Thank goodness she hadn't actually been there, otherwise she might as well have just killed the team herself right there and then. As she thought of his cold body, lying down in autopsy, forever taken from her, she cried harder. Nobody came.

She sat like that for what could have been days for all she cared, but what was really only about a mere half an hour. The rain was merciless in its beatings, but it couldn't break her more than she already was. Her _brother _was _dead. _Gone. Taken. Cheated. Forever.

A hoarse, anguished cry escaped her before she clamped her mouth shut. Her throat stung with the tears she was trying to hold back, but for whose benefit, she wasn't sure anymore. Most certainly not her own. It pained her greatly to know that her brother, who had had a whole life ahead of him, had been taken from her in a coldhearted act of revenge that really could be credited to her. If she had only kept her big mouth freaking _shut_. Then again, that never was a skill of hers, and look where she was now. Alone, guilty, admitting to spiteful water what she couldn't to those who actually loved and cared about her.

Not that she doubted their loyalty and devotion to her, but if anything, she felt like she was taking advantage of it, purposely or not. They would be steamed, pissed off, ticked, furious. Quite frankly, she didn't blame them, and she felt similarly towards herself.

"How could I have let this happen?" With her cracked voice came another rush of tears that she fought futilely to control. She shook her head, "it's all my fault.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice failing her as she started to hyperventilate. Her breath escaped her as she fell into the pit that had become her misery, but honestly, she was glad to get it out and be able to just let go and fall. She was relieved it was out there, literally in the open, but other than that she wasn't sure how she felt about it. What she had risked by opening her way too big mouth, years ago, and again today. But she'd been good about it before… hadn't she?

Maybe she had gotten her team in trouble in other ways. Doubt shrouded her and her sobs quieted to hiccups that caused her chest to ache when she couldn't properly catch her breath before another tirade of hiccups hit her. There were no words left, only questions that she really couldn't answer. What was going to happen now? How could she have let this happen?

There were too many doubts as well. All of those doubts about herself and how things might have been different if she were deaf as well.

Her mind was vulnerable to anything at the moment. Sean, wherever he was, chose this moment to gain from her current state and forced in flickering images; those that she had been forced to look at when his body was found, just outside the Navy Yard. He had been holding nothing, and he looked terrified, so terrified, even in a hurriedly snapped picture by Ziva, and even in death. Deep down, she knew it wasn't a coincidence, and that he had indeed been murdered there, in that very spot.

He had been on his way to see her, to warn her, and that made her feel even worse. If she weren't there, this would all be so much easier, but could she really do that? Did she have the willpower or confidence to do that and to just remove herself? Was it possible to run away from her problems? Or would she run headfirst into a brick wall? She was too happy with life in general, she thought stubbornly, refusing to give in to the darker recesses of her mind. Yet, she couldn't help but feel that those recesses were the more truthful ones.

Fueled by her own misgivings, she stumbled to her numb feet and continued on through the rain until she was enveloped by it, her footsteps rapidly fading away. Mentally, she kept repeating the same words over and over until she was forced to believe them: _I should have already done this, now look what I've gone and screwed up!

* * *

_

"She could catch a freeze, yes?" Ziva found herself arguing in the middle of the bullpen, standing up behind her desk, the rest of her team at their desks.

"Catch a _cold, _Ziva," Tony corrected halfheartedly, exasperated. He shook his head and it was obvious his heart wasn't in it.

"Whatever," she sighed helplessly, releasing the tension in her muscles and allowing herself to fall back into the trusty chair awaiting her.

"It's her business," McGee said, though he couldn't muster the tone he had been intending to use. He rubbed at his eyes, strained from watching the monitor all day. Though he was just as concerned about Abby as they were, he placed his well earned trust in her decisions and abilities. Surely she wouldn't do something completely outlandish… would she?

For a few moments, the only sound was the rain that had somewhere swallowed their friend Abby, fighting against the glass of the window. Then Tony opened his mouth, but a look from Gibbs made him close it again. A fired up Ziva was letting off some necessary steam by snapping a rubber band that she had picked up, though her mind was elsewhere.

"I still think we should look for her," Ziva's voice stated curtly from her desk, the rubber band's twanging keeping a steady beat.

_Twang._

"It's Abby, David," Gibbs added his first two cents worth in. The statement, minus the "David" on their own said enough.

_Twang._

Tony looked up to shoot her a glare, that of which she purposely or not, failed to recognize as that of annoyance.

_Twang._

"Go home," Gibbs shouted, annoyance heavy in his tone. The three agents gave him quizzical looks.

_Twang._

Gibbs shot Ziva a death glare and she dropped the rubber band as if it were on fire. The twanging gone and Gibbs found himself able to continue. "She probably went home," he reasoned, but it was difficult to tell if he believed it himself or not, and he questioned himself on who he was trying to convince. "You're all useless when you're tired, so go home and get some damn sleep."

Leave it to Gibbs to be the voice of reason, albeit the one that turned every rational comment into an insult in one go. However, at the excuse to leave early and get through the rain before it got even worse, his agents quickly stood up and gathered themselves together. Thoughts of getting to sleep early after a warm meal in their dry houses under the glow of lamp light swirled pleasantly in their heads, and Abby was temporarily forgotten. It was uncomplicated to convince themselves that the excuse Gibbs had given for Abby's abrupt leave was true, because it made sense anyway. Probably just went home, slept it off, gave herself some more time to think things through and plan out what she wanted to offer as an explanation for her bizarre actions. The way she was keeping everything going on in her head uncharacteristically secretive from the team was demanding answers. The problem remained that so far, she seemed very unwilling to give them.

The thoughts were dropped, though, as they hurriedly, and in a small cluster, exited from behind their desks. A brief chorus along the lines of "good night, Gibbs" filled the hush before fading out once again as the agents unwillingly made their way out into the cold rain, hoods pulled tight and umbrella's pulling them along.

In a few moments, they disappeared and Gibbs shook his head. Sometimes he had difficulty following his own advice, which, really, would benefit him in the long run if he did. Even though the feeble explanation he had provided had come from the top of his head, it still seemed likely and lucid of her. There was no reason to be concerned.

A few moments later Gibbs was making his own leave, not bothering to pull his hood over his graying head of hair or pull out a weathered umbrella. Instead, he let the rain wash over him as he made his way expertly through the streets, hoping that it would reveal something to him. He thought he heard wet, panicked footsteps, but as he strained to listen, all he could hear was the constantly pounding rain. It was just his mind telling him what he longed to hear.

Gibbs made his way home mechanically.

* * *

The next day, the rain had let up into a rapid, though wet, drizzle. The weather plus the absence of any urgent cases allowed the agents liberty in when they decided to come into work. For the wee, leisurely hours of the morning, some slept in, some worked on digital programs, some exercised, and some… did some woodworking. They did it all with a content buzz, satisfied with however they had individually chosen to spend their previous night free of care. Little did they know that would change awfully soon.

At some point, Gibbs and Ziva made their way into the bullpen simultaneously, managing to avoid the worst of the sopping water. The worst Ziva had gotten was that her hair was soaked, and she spent a few minutes sitting at her desk and attempting to wring the worst of it out of her dark locks. Gibbs himself could care less and sat down behind his desk and instantly started working. McGee let himself in about half an hour later, humming some tune until both Gibbs and Ziva sent a look his way that clearly conveyed to him that he should shut the hell up or risk losing his limbs. He did so and sat behind his desk, not hesitating in letting his practiced fingers take over and fly across the keyboard. Tony made his entrance a few minutes later, relatively quiet for the morning as he smiled, sent a snappy remark Ziva's way of which nobody acknowledged, and lazily dropped into the chair behind his desk. After a little antsy fidgeting and playing around with various things, he too fell begrudgingly into paperwork, though the pile was briskly diminishing.

Time escaped them and they weren't sure when, but by Tony's grumbling stomach they automatically assumed that it was well past lunch, when Jimmy made an unexpected but not unwelcome visit to the bullpen. He looked a little flustered, but nothing else gave him away.

"Has anyone seen Abby?" Jimmy asked casually, taking a glance around to make sure that he hadn't overlooked her. When he received no vocal response he shrugged, not being the most perceptive, and didn't look at their expressions. "I'll go inform Dr. Mallard," he concluded, making his exit back through the elevator and down to his domain.

The visit seemed harmless, though it caused a little discomfort to stir in the four agents. Then Ziva pointed out, "We had not seen her come in yesterday either, yes?" and that was that. Any worry dissipated into their work and was temporarily put to rest. That was, until Ducky made an appearance as well.

If Gibbs was surprised by Ducky's appearance, he didn't show it. "The apple doesn't far too fall from the tree," he mused, referring to the fact that Ducky's protégé had also made a similar emergence. Perhaps Ducky was unsatisfied with Jimmy's excuse.

Ducky didn't seem amused, though. In fact, any traces of it couldn't be found on his face or in his eyes if they stared for hours.

"Abigail never came in today," he informed them, his voice laden with anxiousness. The announcement got their attentions and they all sat up straight, alert. Ducky continued as typing sounds came from McGee's desk. "Yesterday, she came in through the back entrance to autopsy. At first I found it odd, but she passed it off as 'playing a joke,' so I thought nothing of it."

"McGee—" Gibbs began, his voice hinting at snoopiness, although it was excusable. Abby had been acting so strangely as of late, and even the most minor happenings could be a tip-off to something much, much larger.

"Her phone's off, boss," McGee reported glumly from his station. That was only another sign of alarm and Ducky, who had apparently stumbled across something he hadn't meant to be included in at the moment, disappeared back down to autopsy where he was needed.

"DiNozzo, David, check her house. McGee, with me, we're checking out the Navy Yard," Gibbs directed. Nobody hesitated.

Abby was gone, quite literally without a trace.


	11. Who Is He, Abby?

**More action, yay! Thank you all so much for the reviews! The facts in this story may all be untrue, since I really have no idea, but I tried my best. Feel free to correct me! Sorry for the constant repetition, too. Oh, and sorry this is a shorter chapter ^^

* * *

**

"I hate having to do this again," Tony muttered, looking over McGee's shoulder. McGee huffed in agreement. "If only…"

"It's her business, Tony," McGee snapped, effectively cutting him off and keeping the senior agent quiet. Tony had the right of mind not to retort sharply.

However, he then pointed out, "Well, this is, too."

"We already know all this."

"Then why do we need to do this again?" Tony pressed, referring to the background check they were currently conducting on Abby.

"Boss doesn't believe us!" McGee had to bite his tongue to keep from yelling. The senior agent rubbed his forehead with his palm in exasperation. They both wanted the answers and they wanted them now, but it didn't appear as if they were getting them any time soon.

As if voicing those thoughts, Tony asked, "What are we going to get from doing this that we didn't before?" His voice was dripping with hatred that he didn't attempt to hide or dull. Not towards anyone in particular, but towards the screen that was displaying things best kept personal. It was such an invasion of privacy. One could not base a friendship on deceit.

"Maybe something we overlooked?" McGee suggested hopefully.

"Or perhaps something that was once meaningless?" Ziva's voice called. Both men turned their heads to see their teammate entering the bullpen and dropping her bag and coat behind her desk, looking at the two of them curiously. "Have you found anything relevant?" she inquired.

"No," McGee said, his voice losing the hopefulness it had moments ago.

"It has to be someone that would know her whole family," Tony started.

"It has to be personal," McGee added. Ziva joined them, silent as a snake, and looked over McGee's other shoulder. When she too confirmed that there was nothing of interest, at least not yet, she sighed lightly.

Then, something occurred to the Israeli woman. "When we had takeout a few days ago, she mentioned she had a letter to attend to, yes?"

"So?" Tony pressed.

"_So, _since when does Abby get letters?"

McGee's eyes widened just a little as he turned around in his chair to look at the two agents breathing down his neck. "She gets everything by email…" he let his voice trail off.

As if by an unspoken order, they collectively stood and walked to the elevator that would lead them down to Abby's lab. Thankfully for the impatient trio, the elevator arrived quickly and they pushed themselves in hurriedly. At least Gibbs wasn't there; he'd have scolded them for their obvious eagerness. It was, however, their first possible lead to the whereabouts of one Abigail Sciuto, who had apparently gone missing the night before.

The seventeen seconds seemed to the agents an eternity. When it came to kidnap cases, with every passing hour, the chances that the victim would come out of it alive were slimmer and slimmer. They were unable to even imagine what life would be like, personally and professionally, if Abby were lost to the hands of fate. In fact, they couldn't even stand on steady ground in claiming that she had been kidnapped, which was horrifying on its own. To think that she'd just run away was a sickening thought, but one that remained and refused to leave, nonetheless.

The hush was abruptly broken as the elevator dinged at the forensics floor and opened, allowing the three to make their way out. A quick swipe from McGee's card and the lab allowed them to enter without so much as a hesitation.

"Why didn't we think of this sooner?" McGee angrily voiced the thoughts that they were all currently sharing. It wasn't until they broke apart to search individual sections of the lab that Tony called out a plausible reply.

"Because we didn't suspect Abby," he said, and he didn't sound too happy to hear it hanging in the air between them either. It, however, was the raw truth, as much as they all hated to have to acknowledge it. They never suspected Abby would have triggered something to provoke such a brutal attack on her family and her well being. After all, how could innocent, carefree, bubbly Abby have done anything so terrible as to spark acts like this?

Ziva was the one to find the letter, stashed away in one of the drawers at Abby's desk. She called the two men over as she donned some latex gloves, in case the sender had left any fingerprints, though she knew it was futile. Abby was the forensic specialist, and she must have already dusted for fingerprints or any traces that might allow her to track the letter. Disturbed, maybe, but outright dumb, Abby was not.

McGee and Tony were at her side in moments while she carefully dug out the letter so as not to rip any indications of the currently anonymous and suspicious sender. After all, the envelope had only written, "To Miss Abigail Sciuto" and absolutely nothing else. Not a stamp, not a return address, the only other visible thing on that damn envelope was the seal that had signs of being previously removed, most likely by Abby herself.

They found the same aspects of the letter that Abby had. It held only a plain piece of paper, with plain ink typed onto it, and nothing else hidden in the letter along with it. Tony let out a small sigh of relief when they discovered only the letter. There was no mysterious pesticide to nearly kill them from the inside out this time around, at the very least. Ziva and McGee quietly shared his thoughts as Ziva unfolded the letter and opened it.

Their eyes skimmed through the brief letter, filled with words of venom and malice that could be felt, even though it wasn't directed towards them. The letter was cruel and vile, and how anyone could write such a thing to their lovable lab rat chilled them. This person was capable of such a hatred towards Abby, of all people, that he went so far as to murder her brother, and from this they could deduce that he held the ability to do much worse. This fact was just assumed, but it made sense, and another puzzle piece clicked snugly into place. The man who wrote this scared them and they knew that whoever sent this had to be their guy. They were scared for Abby, scared for her family, and scared for themselves a little bit, too.

McGee gulped uneasily and pointed out with a shaky finger, "He implies that he was in the hospital, too."

"Is that where he met Abby?" Tony wondered aloud.

"Is this the reason behind Abby's disappearance?" Ziva also asked.

"Abby wouldn't let herself be fazed by a psycho to the point of suicide like this guy wants," McGee said confidently. "Besides, we didn't find any evidence of even an attempted suicide at her house. Nothing was misplaced, missing, bloodied, _nothing. _She's alive, and out there somewhere."

"It's the somewhere part I don't like," Tony said.

"Ditto," McGee mumbled.

"Likewise," Ziva said softly, mildly surprising the two men with the fact that she got the phrase right.

Then McGee remembered Tony's pondering and supplied a response. "I doubt this is how he knows her. Abby has no previous medical records of her being admitted to the hospital for any reason before being poisoned."

"Wait, so this nut job poisoned her, and _knew _she was in the hospital, _knew _when she got out, and sent her this?" Tony nearly shouted, gesturing to the piece of paper clutched in Ziva's gloved hands.

"It appears that way," she said glumly.

"He doesn't visibly threaten her to keep quiet," McGee pointed out, forcing himself to read the letter over again. "He's made contact with her before this."

"Or it was her own choice," Ziva said.

"I doubt that, too. Abby doesn't usually keep things directly relevant to a case from us," McGee responded, putting the idea that Abby was setting this up to ease. It just wasn't even remotely close to the realm of possibilities here.

"He's got her scared," Tony mentioned.

"Poor Abby, she must have been suffering since Sean was murdered," Ziva said regretfully, sorry that she hadn't been able to do anything sooner. Her teammates felt similarly.

"Is it possible that the hospital he's referring to is a mental hospital?" Tony suddenly questioned as the idea came to mind, getting them back on track. McGee nodded thoughtfully, and then looked down at the signature. Abby must have recognized it, but to them, it was foreign. It was signed by the initials "D.E." and that was all he wrote.

"I cannot recall Abby mentioning anyone by these initials," Ziva said, following McGee's gaze. Instantly McGee went to work, booting up Abby's computers and doing a search for anyone that matched the initials that may have been released from a mental hospital in the past year or so.

While he conducted his search, Ziva and Tony once again forcibly read the letter over. They gleaned no further hints from the letter, unfortunately. After all, they worked in NCIS, not in the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. It wasn't in their job description to have to profile an "unsub." All they could do was take what they could from the text itself.

For whatever reason, it occurred to Tony just then to contact Gibbs with their findings. He was currently stationed by Abby's house to see if anyone suspicious, or even Abby herself, came or went. Tony stood back and flipped open his cell phone, pressing the appropriate number to speed dial the guard dog that his boss had become. The ringing ceased in a few seconds, replaced by the voice of Gibbs.

"_Gibbs_," it announced.

"Hey, boss, we got something," Tony said softly as he put the phone on speaker, nearly being drowned out by the sounds of beeping from the computer, skimming the list of recent mental patients that had been released. So far, there were no matches, according to the monitor, but it still had a lot of names to sift through.

"_Well, are you gonna tell me, DiNozzo?_"

"Right, boss. Well, we found a letter in Abby's lab." He couldn't find the words to even begin to describe the content, so Ziva took the phone from him before Gibbs could start his berating.

"Gibbs, this letter is addressed to Abby. It is… very cruel," she said, not being capable of finding the correct words either.

Thankfully, Gibbs avoided the touchy subject and instead asked, "_Has it been dusted for prints?_"

Before Ziva or Tony could respond, McGee called out, "Yes, boss. Abby did it already. The findings were open on her computer when I booted it up. She found nothing."

"_Why are you on Abby's computer?_"

"The letter is signed by someone with the initials D.E. and McGeek is looking it up. Does it ring a bell?" Tony supplied.

"_Can't say it does._"

While Tony rattled off the hints they _had _managed to get from the letter, McGee continued his search. Just as Tony finished, the computer finished its scan as well and came up with four matching results. When Tony quieted, McGee interrupted.

"Got four possible matches," he announced, bringing their IDs up on the plasma. Ziva and Tony circled around to stand in front of the giant screen, Gibbs between them so he could listen in. "Delroy Etain, Daniel Evans, Donovan Ebber, and Dennis Eiden. All were recently released from mental hospitals here in D.C. Currently cross-referencing with Abby's files."

Ziva and Tony watched as things flashed across the screen that they couldn't even hope to understand. Words, pictures and newspaper articles filled the monitor for milliseconds before being replaced by other information. McGee seeded through it, first crossing Etain, and finding nothing, moving onto Evans. Anxiety clawed at their chests, even Gibbs, who couldn't see what was happening but could practically feel it. With the anxiety came a brief lull in speech, that was, until the computer finished its search of all four men. McGee analyzed the results and made his report.

"From this, Ebber apparently moved to New Orleans, where Abby grew up, at age sixteen with his father after his parents went through a messy divorce." McGee did a little more digging on Ebber, and then continued when he had more information to back him up. "His mother went missing after the incident and his father supposedly became an alcoholic. Ebber was home schooled in solitude, yes, by his drunken father, until age seventeen, where he started at the same high school Abby went to, in the same grade."

"That's how they met," Tony mused.

McGee went on. "After turning eighteen, apparently the grade had a sort of science fair in the second to last month of their senior year, where they presented individual projects for their final grade."

"Abby already knew what she wanted to do at that point, then," Ziva vocalized her thoughts.

"And it showed. The story goes she pointed out a _huge _mistake in Ebber's electricity project that cost him the final grade, and he had a mental breakdown and tried to attack her. He was suspended and during that time, he stole, murdered small animals, made constant threats, and became an alcoholic like his father. Apparently, he had been aspiring to be a forensic scientist as well, says his teachers and his father, while he was sober, and Abby's correction _really _got to him."

"_Well there you go, black and white,_" Gibbs said. "_Go get him._"

A few more commands and Ebber, and only his, ID popped up on the screen. The man looked deranged, even in the snapshot. His hair was a dull muddy color and ragged, as if it had been cut clumsily with a kitchen knife. Scars littered his face from fights he had allegedly picked, not only with other people, but with himself from his own illusions. His eyes, looking infuriated with something beyond the camera, were a dark blue, closer to black or a darkish brown. A little facial hair finished off the look.

"Well, he's creepy," Tony announced.

* * *

Her feet had kept her going, despite the crippling conditions. At some point she had stopped, though where, when, and for how long had escaped her. All she knew was that hypothermia was probably setting in, and she just assured that the people she loved most in the world next to her biological family were in peril, and there was nothing she could do. She deserved what she was doing to herself, in her mind, and it was driving her to the point of illness. Though the cold was biting at her logical sense, and that also made her think strangely and act similarly.

Hypothermia was a definite risk as she trudged on, in the cold, wet and tired. The absence of civilian life told her she had wandered into a forest, perhaps, but her sight started to seem fail her. Though she could see everything, none of it registered in her mind, and it was irrelevant. Her mind failed to recognize the danger she was intentionally putting herself in, or the conditions that were starting to eat away at her sanity.

Coughs racked her body, but she never noticed the burning in her throat or chest, not even the violent noises or the small trickle of blood that had started from the corner of her mouth. Despite the fact that her lungs weren't bleeding internally, she was coughing so hard that she was starting to draw blood anyway. She was shivering violently, but that didn't mean anything to her, either. Her irregular footsteps across what must have been the forest floor, or her hands, desperate to hold something, shivering in their own grasp. Her body wasn't responding and she was confused and terrified, trapped inside a mind that was no longer hers, that controlled her physical movements and even her deepest thoughts.

Blueness tinted her skin in some areas, but it didn't make sense to her numbed mind. Her awkward, stumbling movements, nor the amount of times she toppled over but automatically stood up again. Desperateness crept up her spine but she kept going, regardless, unsure of where she was going. All were symptoms of hypothermia that was steadily getting worse from the remnants of the rain and the bitter cold. Her hands slowed and so did her body movements as she progressed down a path that she wasn't sure she wanted to take, but she'd never know.

Something was there with her the whole time, she knew that, but she ignored it. The matching footsteps it made, or the brief silences whenever she fell. It walked along with her, but it was just a figment of her imagination. It couldn't be real. The terror it was sparking in her, along with an added note of desperation, it all had to be fake, false. Something was wrong… very wrong… what happened? Suddenly she didn't know where she was, or even who. It all escaped her and she was reaching for something just out of her grasp. Nothing made sense, as if she were solving a math problem that had her stumped and, most of all, confused.

Then she dropped and her mind shut down completely as she faded into a world of cold oblivion where she knew nothing and felt nothing, yet it was all still there, all still real. The thing stopped too, crouching down to her level, its unmasked face a shadow. Gloves darted out and roughly grabbed her limp body from under her arms and dragged her up and took her away.


	12. Who Knows, Abby?

Ziva and Tony found themselves navigating the busy streets in the NCIS issued Dodge Charger. The latter himself was grinding his teeth together in an effort to stay focused on the wheel currently being clenched by his hands while listening to Ziva insist that she'd drive faster.

"Ziva!" Tony cut her off and she gave him a steaming look. "I know you can drive faster," he tried to reason, "it's just that _I value my life._"

"If you so value your life, then maybe you will drive faster so as not to let Gibbs have it," she retorted, letting out a little huff just before her cell phone went off with a small chime. As she fished in her pockets for it, Tony mumbled something inaudible under his breath.

It was true. In the few minutes it had taken them to get from Abby's lab, to the car, to the streets, it hadn't been difficult to pick up on Gibbs' attitude adjustment. He was furious—no, _beyond _pissed off, and that was hard to pick up on the usually emotionless man. The fact that he was letting it show was even worse, and Tony and Ziva alike felt like mice under the gaze of a predatory damn lion. They might of well have been, but quite frankly, they couldn't blame their superior. Abby was undoubtedly his favorite and the daughter that had come to fill the hole made by the one that had been unfairly taken from him. No soothing words could fix the damage done, and Gibbs had told them curtly that actions spoke louder than words when Ziva had attempted a comforting goodbye note before departing the Navy Yard. Gibbs was ready to snap someone's head clean off his neck, and all three agents only hoped that when that moment finally came, it would be on the bad guy.

Relief washed over Ziva's face as she realized that the caller wasn't an infuriated Gibbs, but a much milder McGee, who had a word about their location.

"_Take a left right there, Tony," _was the first thing he said, and luckily Ziva had automatically put the small device on speaker. In response Tony made a sharp left turn, knocking a surprised Ziva into the door on the passenger's side. One Hebrew curse later and they were driving as smooth as possible again.

If McGee hadn't spoken at that moment, Ziva would have been yelling at Tony. A silent Tony was thanking whatever higher powers there were for the interruption as McGee continued. _"I can't find any credit card purchases on his account," _McGee announced, to the dismay of the two agents. That always meant bad news. _"Says he works as a garbage guy."_

"The guy _is _garbage," Tony said rather humorlessly. Anyone that was hurting Abby was less than garbage in his mind, but the analogy fit anyway.

"Got to go," Ziva announced as Tony slowed and pulled up at the curb to a pleasant little street. Without another word she hung up on their teammate as the two agents simultaneously exited the vehicle and stood on the sidewalk.

On the street were three stereotypical two-story houses with mowed front lawns. One, at the far end, had a child's swing set parked in front and what looked like a playhouse and a few stray toy cars and dolls. That one was painted neutral beige that went well with the white of the windowpanes, doorframe and door, porch, stairs, and roof. The middle one was painted somewhat darkly with a dulled teal that managed to match an off-white shade for the details. This house's lawn looked like it hadn't been mowed recently and, without much surprise, it happened to be Ebber's house. The third one, closest to the two agents, had a bright red FOR SALE sign in the front yard and the windows were darkened.

The rain had passed for now, but there were small puddles everywhere and the air smelled of it. The sky was also still somewhat dim, but lighter than it had been. Tony and Ziva made their way to the middle house, where they made their way up the pavement to the house, carefully observing the grass on either side of them. Other than the fact that it could be more neatly taken care of, it seemed as if there was no other disturbance. Once they reached the house they pressed the little white doorbell and after a minute they realized there would be no response. Some loud knocking from Tony and there was still no response.

Finally, Tony shouted, "NCIS Federal Agents, open up!" rather forcefully. Instead of the door in front of them opening, however, the door to their right opened up from the house that screamed of a family. Out stepped a man just a tad shorter than Tony. A pair of keys were clutched in his hand and he was looking over curiously at the agents.

"Are you looking for Don?" he asked casually, getting their attentions pretty quick.

"Who are you?" Ziva asked without hesitation, taking in the man's appearance. He didn't look like a threat, but then again, some people had the talent of just blending in. A dark blue yamacha sat upon his head, covered with soft, if a little curly, light brown hair and dark brown eyes. His appearance got a raised eyebrow as a response from Ziva, and Tony just looked confused.

"Adam Goldberg," he answered as if he were speaking to the mailman. "I'm Don's neighbor."

"What can you tell us about Donovan Ebber?" Tony asked, snapping back into work mode as the two agents stepped down from the porch and over to Adam's yard. He waited patiently before gesturing for them to walk with him and they complied warily, flanking his sides.

"Don's a nice guy. I was actually just about to go over and mow his lawn for him," he said, waving the keys in his hand and then nodding towards the tool shed that was hidden behind his house, where they were apparently headed.

"Too busy to do it himself?" Tony pushed.

"He's recovering from alcohol addiction. Right now he's on the ninth step, and he got in contact with his mother and he decided to stay with her about a week ago. Said he'd return sometime next week."

Ziva, realizing that they were getting some pretty good information from this guy, went through her pockets attempting to find her notebook and pen. It took her only a moment to find before she pulled it out and started scribbling down notes on what he had already said. When she did this Adam cast her a sidelong, curious glance.

"Why?" he finally asked.

"Possible witness to a murder that occurred in the Navy Yard," Ziva replied evenly, and it wasn't entirely a lie. Though where he stood right now, Ebber was more than a witness, but they didn't want to scare the man currently feeding them important info.

"Was it recent?"

"No." Adam accepted this answer and went through his ring of keys to find the correct one once they reached the door to the shed. The keys clicked in the small iron lock.

"Was he acting differently at all?" Ziva asked, choosing her words carefully so as not to alarm the friendly neighbor.

"Not that I can remember. He just worked, came home, ate dinner at our house a few times. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Have you ever heard of an Abigail Sciuto?" Ziva suddenly inquired.

He seemed pensive as he pushed the door open and switched on the overhead bulb to reveal a slightly dusty, organized tool shed. There were lawnmowers, shovels, gardening supplies, and various other things stashed away on shelves or leaning against the walls. Cobwebs littered the viewable corners, the string sparkling against the dark brown of the inside. A small, dusty glass window on the side would normally let in a fractured trail of light, but not when there wasn't any to be shone today.

Adam went over to retrieve the lawnmower where it was stored snugly in a shelf. "Can't say I have," he told them at last, his expression unreadable as he bent over the machine. "Was she the victim?"

Tony and Ziva both visibly bristled and tensed respectively, thankfully going unseen by the oblivious man bending over in front of them in a white button-up shirt and a light gray pair of sweats. Somehow the yamacha stayed firmly on his head and Tony resolved to joke about it later with the resident Israeli standing next to him, who was beginning to relax her muscles. Abby wasn't the victim—not yet, at least, and they intended to keep it that way.

"We're not at liberty to say," Tony stated officially. Adam left it at that, fully respectful of the law and authority figures.

"I have to go mow his lawn before it gets too late," Adam informed them politely, tapping the silver watch on his wrist. He then took the lawnmower and passed by them. The two stealthily followed, sharing a curious glance and standing off to the side as he started it up and began cutting the grass.

"Do you mind if we take a look around? Maybe he left something at your house?" Tony called over the loud grumbling of the mower.

"Not at all, go right ahead, door's open," Adam called back, but Tony and Ziva were already steps away from his door.

They found no resistance from the lock as they pushed open the wooden door. Instantly a nicely furnished house greeted them with extraordinarily colored tapestries and delicate vases lined the walls and floors. A dark wood coffee table stood off to the side and there were stairs leading to another floor.

The two agents took a stroll, informally assessing the house. Tony took the upstairs, leaving Ziva to the main floor. It came to Ziva's attention at some point, though she didn't know when, that there were no photos on the wall, at all, anywhere. The neutrally painted walls were bare of absolutely anything. She thought it to be nothing but a little strange, considering he had a family to care for. Speaking of which…

Tony walked along the hallways, noticing the same thing. There were no photos, no frames, no nothing anywhere but fine furniture and décor. He peeked into some of the rooms on that floor, finding a bathroom, walk in closet, what looked to be a boy's room, and the master bedroom with a king size bed sitting in the middle. It all looked like a lovely family house with a lovely family and lovely people. Adam seemed like a perfectly nice guy, just trying to help out whoever he could and life a happy life, which he appeared to be doing successfully. Finished with his observations for now, he made his way back downstairs, only to meet Ziva who was emerging from the dining room.

"Anything?" she asked.

"Family's not here, but the rooms are all set up," he explained the major parts of his findings.

"Likewise. The table is set. There is a chair with books piled on top."

"For a kid," Tony mused.

"Also…" Ziva started to add the small detail she had left out. It didn't seem significant, but it was worth sharing. "There were no photos."

Tony looked at her curiously before agreeing with a puzzled nod. They glanced around the entrance as if expecting a picture to appear out of nowhere, which didn't happen.

"Weird for a family guy," Tony commented absently. He received a shrug in response from Ziva. "Let's get his number and get back to Gibbs."

* * *

Back at the Navy Yard, Ziva was relaying the notes she had scribbled down to a patient duo consisting of Gibbs and McGee, the four of them in total huddled together in a small meeting. Gibbs' expression stayed impassive while McGee would give the occasional nod, purse of the lips, or furrowing of the eyebrows.

"No pictures?" he queried, obviously riddled and not bothering to hide it.

"Weird," Gibbs commented in a manner much like Tony's had been earlier. "And he didn't recognize Abbs?"

"No, boss," Tony supplied.

"McGee, find his mother," Gibbs ordered strictly, turning his icy blue stare back onto the agent. He scrambled to get back behind his desk and perform a very thorough search on Ebber's family. With McGee's talented fingers and computer smarts it didn't take long before a few results came up, which McGee promptly displayed on the plasma.

"Heather Ebber," he informed them, but his voice trailed off as he continued to read the information on the screen. "Are you sure Adam said that Ebber visited his mother?"

"Yes, why?" Ziva turned around to face him.

"Well, she's been dead for three years."

* * *

Her body was clenching painfully as it attempted in vain to rid her body of the impenetrable cold that had seeped through her skin. She couldn't see, but she could feel her teeth painfully clattering together, shaking her skull and pounding it into a throbbing headache. Wherever her hands were they were void of feeling, completely numb, and she had no idea if they even existed anymore. After a few moments she did feel a shaky finger timidly come in contact with what she assumed to be her palm and she calmed a bit.

Everything was a cold black, one that did nothing to appease her conditions. She kept up with the movement in her hands, knowing that she had to keep the circulation going because wherever the hell she was, it was damn _cold, _and that was the understatement of the decade. After deciding that she could feel her numb body enough to move, she tried, only to feel restrained and fall back—hard—against something. It knocked the wind out of her, whatever was left, for a moment and she took a deep breath, only to feel the iciness and the reminder that her headache was still there.

Nothing was registering in her mind anymore except naturally the fact that she was cold. Later, she'd credit that sense to the natural human instinct that survival came first, and that was on the forefront of her mind. It would also later alarm her, once she had properly regained her senses, that she was solely focused on survival, because normally in her lab, she was anything but.

A feeling cataloged somewhere in her mind, one that was extremely uncomfortable. It took a little too long for her to find where it was coming from, because as soon as she did, it carried out. She couldn't help but sneeze loudly into the blackness, jerking her head forward only to have it pulled back roughly by something. It banged shockingly against something even colder, if that was possible, and firm. Mercifully, it put her back into a state where pain was no longer felt and she could be at peace, even temporarily.

With the loud sound her head made when hitting the metal table attracted attention. A man, his silhouette against a shadowy stone wall, appeared scrawny, though she couldn't see. Of course she couldn't, he had made sure of that. How utterly _stupid _she was, wasn't she? Yes, yes she was, and he took delight from that answer.

His shadow moved rather quietly over to her still, chilled form, and he bent down in her face. Not casually, not degradingly, but triumphantly. Even though he knew his words would be falling on deaf ears, he pushed them out to be heard by whoever cared. "I hate you, Abigail Sciuto."

Satisfied, he made his exit.

* * *

**This chapter has not been edited, didn't have time, so I apologize for any typos or strangely worded sentences or repetitiveness. .**


	13. Author's Note

**Hey, sorry this is just a brief AN.**

**With this story, the chapters usually come to me starting with the scene once I think about it for a while. So far, nothing has come to me clearly with the next chapter, so just give me a little time. Not to mention the fact that I'm low on inspiration; this latest chapter has gotten only 2 reviews, and the least amount of hits out of all 12 chapters. Sorry for getting your hopes up again. And I'll update as soon as I get something good. Once more, this AN will be removed once the next chapter is finished.  
**

'**Till then, have fun!**


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